Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Desperate to escape life with the alcoholic Cygnus Black, Bellatrix seeks help from the shadowy Lord Voldemort - an old school friend of her father's. Voldemort offers to control Cygnus' behavior and delay Bellatrix's betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange in exchange for a favor - Bellatrix must be his date to an upcoming Pureblood wedding. What could possibly go wrong? Complete!
1. O, Wonder!

_**June 1970**_

 _ **Malfoy Manor**_

"Sir? Bellatrix Black is here to see you, if you're willing to meet with her." Ice-blond, crisp-eyed Abraxas Malfoy stood in the doorway of the office he lent to Lord Voldemort. These days, Voldemort was desperately trying to gain prestige, trying to gain followers and respect. He had a small circle of Death Eaters, mostly old school 'friends' who had been happy to see him come back from the Continent with a new name and more confidence than ever.

But to nearly all the wizarding world, Voldemort was still Tom Riddle. He still lived in a rented flat in Highgate and lived off money his Death Eaters gave him 'for the cause.' Even in the wake of the riots he'd organised surrounding the recent Squibs' rights marches, and in light of the scattered disappearances he'd arranged, he was still an underground figure, and to the magical public, he was still just Tom Riddle. But Abraxas Malfoy had faith. And he had an office.

"Bellatrix Black?" Voldemort repeated, combing his fingers through his dark hair. "What, Cygnus' eldest?"

"The very same, sir," Abraxas nodded. "She sent an owl ahead of time, but she's here. She says she only needs a few minutes of your time."

"Well, all right. Send her in, I suppose," Voldemort shrugged. Malfoy nodded and walked away, and a few minutes later, a petite figure appeared in his doorway.

"Miss Black. Do come in. Shut the door behind you," Voldemort said tightly. In walked Bellatrix Black, and Voldemort could not help but raise his eyebrows a little. She was very pretty. That was his first thought. He did not often notice witches' prettiness, for witches were a terrible distraction from his goals, and his goals were paramount. But this particular witch was pretty enough that he could not help but notice.

She was very short, he noted, and very thin. She was _small_. And her hair burst forth from her head, an explosion of shiny ravel coils that surrounded her face in a thick halo of curls. That face was nearly white, porcelain and unblemished, with full dusky lips and a narrow nose and enormous dark eyes. Voldemort was suddenly very self-conscious of his own appearance; he'd begun to bald a little in recent years, and he knew his face had been made harsh and sharp by all the Dark magic he'd performed. But what would she care what he looked like? He blinked a few times and used wandless magic to push out the chair opposite him, silently inviting her to sit, which she did. She'd come dressed in a simple black velvet frock with a wide leather belt, and Voldemort realised he never paid attention to what witches were wearing.

"Hello, sir," Bellatrix Black said, and he cleared his throat roughly.

"Miss Black. We've seen one another in passing at a few occasions, I think, though we have never met directly. Your father and I knew one another well in school, and your mother was a few years behind us."

"Yes, sir. I know," Bellatrix nodded. She knitted her fingers together in her lap and said, "That's why I've come. I'm not sure sure where else to look for help."

"Help." Voldemort repeated the word, attempting not to inject any connotation into it. _Help_. She had come to him, to Lord Voldemort, for _help?_ Was she stupid? He just stared, and Bellatrix said,

"You may or may not be aware, sir, but my father has developed a very serious drinking problem in the last decade or so."

"Ah. Yes. I'd heard," Voldemort nodded. "It is, unfortunately, why I was unable to grant him access to my innermost circle. It is difficult to trust a drunken man."

"It is," Bellatrix nodded. She was calm and collected then as she stated plainly, "When he is very drunk, he uses spells and his fists to abuse my mother and my sisters. And myself, as well, though I am the only one willing and able to fight back properly. He is in St Mungo's at the moment; I accidentally injured him with a charged Knockback Jinx last night after he used an Oppugno Jinx to make household goods attack me."

Voldemort felt a mix of emotion then. He was surprised, and a bit dismayed, to hear that the noble Cygnus Black III had fallen so deeply into alcoholism. He was also terribly impressed to hear that this girl - Bellatrix - had battled back so fiercely in the face of her father's abuse. He drummed his fingers on the desk and guessed,

"You're afraid for your sisters and mother."

"That's right, sir. I'm eighteen, and I've just left Hogwarts. I have savings of my own - from gifts and inheritances, you know. I have a flat in London for now, until I marry Rodolphus Lestrange, as I'm promised to do. But Narcissa and Andromeda and my mother have nowhere else to go. The girls are trapped there over the summer; there's no room for them in my studio flat. I have come to you because I think you possess the power and the wherewithal to make my parents' home a safe place for my mother and the girls. I will pay any price."

Voldemort nodded. He tipped his head and frowned. "Rodolphus Lestrange. When are you marrying him?"

Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, and she shook her head and looked away. "The date is not set."

"You do not seem as though you're looking forward to it," Voldemort observed, and Bellatrix said awkwardly,

"It is a betrothal arranged by our fathers. We are very ill-suited for one another. I would much prefer to find good work and remain unwed, but when I suggested breaking the betrothal to my father… well, let's just say I went back to school after Christmas with a cast on my wand arm."

"Hm." Voldemort took a very long breath and studied her. She finally flicked her eyes back to him, and he saw Darkness in her. Not just the dark brown of her eyes, but the Dark within her soul. She may be trying to protect her mother and sisters, but she was Dark. And pretty.

"I will strike a bargain with you," Voldemort said, his mind beginning to race. Bellatrix sat up in her chair a bit straighter, smiling a little and looking eager. Voldemort confirmed, "I can make your father's behaviour safer for your mother and sisters, though it may involve putting him under an Imperius Curse. Something tells me you don't care about the means to the end."

"Do whatever you must, sir," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort decided that he liked this girl very much indeed. He folded his hands on his desk and continued,

"I shall also convince him to postpone, indefinitely if you wish, your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. I will buy you as much time as you'd like; you're only eighteen, and there is certainly nothing thrusting you headlong into married life."

Bellatrix grinned, but then her smile faltered, and he knew why. What was he going to ask of her in return? Surely, he was about to demand something awful. He gulped, feeling awkward now, and he pointed out,

"Acantha Greengrass is marrying Callum Macmillan this weekend. It is a Pureblood wedding, and so of course I must be in attendance. But neither family views me yet as anything more than Tom Riddle. And, so, if I go alone, I will look rather… pathetic."

Bellatrix frowned, her full lips parting a little, and she seemed as though she understood what he was hinting at, but was afraid to suggest it. Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment and then said very quickly,

"I will Imperius your father into drinking less, behaving properly around you and your mother and sisters, and delaying your marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. In exchange, I require that you attend the wedding this weekend with me. As my date."

He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix staring at him like he'd sprouted three heads. His cheeks went hot with embarrassment and anger. Was it as ludicrous a suggestion as all that? There was a substantial and obvious age gap, to be certain, but wedding dates were never assumed to be steady relationships. Besides which, it was as he'd said. He could not very well attend this Pureblood event alone if he wanted to gain the respect and dignity upon which his success relied. Bellatrix Black came from one of the oldest and most prestigious Pureblood families. Having her on his arm would make Tom Riddle - _Lord Voldemort_ \- look honourable and sophisticated.

"I feel that this is a scenario in which everyone wins, so to speak," he told her sharply, and Bellatrix nodded vigorously.

"Yes. Of course," she whispered. She cleared her throat gently and told him, "I am so grateful. So very grateful. Thank you, sir. My Lord."

His skin prickled at that. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at that, at hearing her say _My Lord_. Only his Death Eaters called him that, and they'd only recently started. Why she'd felt the instinct to do so, he did not know, but he was not about to question it. He squeezed his hands together on the desk, thinking to himself that it was inappropriate for him to go to wherever she lived to pick her up before the event. He asked her,

"Can you Apparate here, then? The ceremony begins at five; we can leave with the Malfoys at half past four."

"I'll be here, sir. Thank you." Bellatrix nodded quickly. "Thank you."

"Right. I'll… erm… I'll be sure that your father understands you're coming with me for political reasons," Voldemort said, feeling a little numb. He flicked the corners of his lips up and said, "If there's nothing else?"

"No, there isn't. Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix rose from her chair, making him feel dizzy again with those words. _My Lord._ He watched her start to go, and he said,

"I shall see you this Saturday, then."

She smiled at him over her shoulder, and as soon as she closed the door behind her, Voldemort let out a huff of a breath, still as dizzy as ever.

 **Author's Note: Yayyyy! It's a brand-new Bellamort fic! If you're still reading** _ **Her Cruel and Angry Bones,**_ **never fear - I am still finishing that one up. I'm just beginning this one as I finish that one up, because my brain decided to write two stories at once. This will also be a novel-length story. As always, feedback is enormously appreciated. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**


	2. Our Revels

Bellatrix came to outside of Malfoy Manor, and she took a moment to ensure that she hadn't disheveled herself in the course of Apparating. She wasn't exactly an expert; she had her Licence, but she very rarely actually Apparated anywhere. She'd made it here just fine, though.

It was pleasantly warm today, which made Bellatrix feel better about her choice of a knee-length dress. Her mother would have scolded her, insisting that she should wear a long gown to any wedding. But Bellatrix felt she looked very formal in her dress, with its boat neck and three-quarter sleeves, its tightly sashed waist and very full skirts. It was all constructed of black tulle; Bellatrix had had the dress made at Twillfit and Tattings the year before. She'd chosen black velvet pumps and a black velvet purse Expanded to fit her wand, and she wore silver pearl earrings and a matching strand of silver pearls round her neck. She'd styled her wild curls into an elegant twist at the back of her head, and she'd dared to put on scarlet lipstick. Frankly, Bellatrix didn't think she looked all that bad, and she was usually quite self-conscious of her own appearance.

Now, as she walked up to the manor, she cleared her throat a little, her nerves finally kicking in. She was attending a wedding where everyone would know who she was, and she was going on the arm of Lord Voldemort. Perhaps they didn't all respect him, but she certainly did. She'd heard loads of talk about his goal to become the head of a Pureblood movement, of how he wanted to reclaim wizarding Britain and put Mudbloods and Muggles in their place. She'd heard that he was charismatic and charming, that he would make a fine leader. And she was going to a wedding on his arm.

He was very handsome, she thought. She'd thought so in his office. He had a sharpness about him, as though someone had drawn him in pencil and had been too harsh with the lines. But he was still so achingly handsome. She felt her stomach flutter a little as she knocked on the door of Malfoy Manor with the heavy brass knocker, and soon enough the door opened to reveal a timid-looking House-Elf.

"Miss Bellatrix Black, miss?" he asked, and she stepped inside.

"I'm here for Lord Voldemort," she said plainly, "and for the Malfoys."

"Yes. Please wait here, Miss. Dobby will fetch them. Oh!" The House Elf nearly toppled over in fear then, for Abraxas Malfoy and his dough-faced wife, Faustina, were coming down the stairs. Faustina was a mean-faced woman who always looked very angry. Bellatrix had thought that about her for as long as she could remember. But Abraxas Malfoy was clean and handsome in appearance. They did not visually match, and, yet, they seemed to work together just fine.

"Miss Black!" exclaimed Faustina in her nasally voice. "How good to see you. My. Don't you look lovely."

"As do you, Mrs Malfoy," Bellatrix said, though that was a lie. Faustina's dress was very unflattering; it's dark turquoise colour was all wrong for Faustina's olive skin tone, and the cut of the gown made her midsection look lumpy. But Faustina smiled, patted at her bleached-blonde hair, and smirked.

"Acantha Greengrass will have to have been dipped straight into her wedding gown, I imagine. That girl's a twig. I don't think she's eaten for three years, probably."

That was a mean thing to say, for Bellatrix knew that Acantha had struggled mightily at school with the illusion of being fat when, indeed, Acantha had always been very thin. And Bellatrix had never had any particular quarrel with Acantha. So she just kept her mouth shut. Soon enough, there were footsteps, and Lord Voldemort appeared around the corner up the stairs. Bellatrix's heart began to race when she saw him, and she tried not to be obvious in her reaction.

His tuxedo robes fit him perfectly; he'd opted for a black bow tie and waistcoat over a white dress shirt, with a tailored black outer robe and tailored trousers. He looked incredibly handsome with his dark hair side parted and combed just so, obviously freshly shaven, and as he walked down the stairs, he met Bellatrix's eyes and seemed surprised. He studied her carefully, and Faustina Malfoy asked,

"Well, sir? What do you think of your date?"

Voldemort mercifully ignored the question. He just descended the stairs and walked up to Bellatrix, and it was then that she realised just how much taller than her he was. She didn't even reach his shoulder. She shivered a little at that for some reason. He stared down at her and murmured,

"Good evening, Miss Black."

"Good evening, My Lord," she replied, and his dark eyes flashed. He curled up half his mouth, seeming very happy with that response. Bellatrix smiled a bit. He liked it when she called him that, she realised. Perhaps he didn't hear it enough. Perhaps not enough people called him that. Well, she liked to do it.

"Shall we go?" Abraxas Malfoy asked, and the four of them spent a moment clarifying just where in Cheshire the Greengrass estate was and how to deliberately Apparate there. Then, one by one, they left. _Pop, pop, pop, pop._ When they came to outside the large Georgian mansion that belonged to the Greengrass family, the Malfoys headed up to the doorway, and Voldemort held his arm out to Bellatrix. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled up at him and wrapped her arm delicately around the inside of his elbow. She gulped at the feel of his dress robe, and he said quietly to her,

"You look lovely this evening, Miss Black."

She blinked, raising her eyes to him. "Thank you, My Lord."

His breath seemed a little quick then, and she watched his throat bob, and Faustina Malfoy called,

"Are you coming, or shall we go in on our own?"

"Coming!" Bellatrix called back. She tore her eyes from Voldemort's, and the two of them walked across the grass to the sound of crickets and leaves rustling. There was music and conversation coming from inside the house. When they went inside and made their way into the stately drawing room to the right, a House-Elf directed them to the seating area. Bellatrix spotted her family, and she asked cautiously,

"May I go say hello?"  
"Of course," Voldemort said graciously. "I've got people go greet myself. I'll save you a seat."

"Thank you, My Lord." She walked off without looking back to see his reaction to that. She could feel eyes on her, eyes curious that the aristocratic Bellatrix Black had come as the date of the much older social climber, Tom Riddle - or Lord Voldemort, if the curious eyes viewed him that way. Bellatrix's sister Narcissa flew to her feet, looking pretty in a heather grey silk dress, and she wrapped her arms round Bellatrix as she approached.

"My, but you look gorgeous," Narcissa said, and Bellatrix smirked.

"You look like a damned Veela," she said. "Hi, Andy."

"Hullo." Andromeda, who had always clashed a bit with Bellatrix, looked pretty, too, her auburn hair set off by her hunter green caped confection. Druella Black looked tired, but as she hugged her daughter, she whispered,

"Daddy's been much better these last few days. Since he got home from hospital."

"Oh. Glad to hear that." Bellatrix pulled back, studying her mother's face. She looked like a woman of sixty, not a woman of thirty-eight, but her father's drinking had packed years onto Druella's existence. Druella trembled, seemingly with fatigue, and said,

"Cygnus? Look, darling. Bella's here."

"Oh. Hullo, Bellatrix." Cygnus sniffed and stood from his chair, looking mildly sloppy but at least vaguely presentable in his dress robes. Bellatrix smelled alcohol on him, but he wasn't stumbling or slurring, which was far better than usual. She glanced over her shoulder to see Voldemort chatting with a pack of wizards she recognised as Avery, Nott, Mulciber, and Yaxley. She turned back to her parents and sisters and said,

"I'm here with a date, you know."

"Yes, a much, much _older_ date, from what I hear," grumbled Andromeda, and Narcissa hissed,

"You're just jealous."

" _Honoured guests, please take your seats. The ceremony is about to begin._ " An Amplified voice came through the room, and Bellatrix bid her family farewell, making her way across the spacious drawing room to where Voldemort was gesturing to an aisle seat for her. Bellatrix sat, putting her bag in her lap, and flashed Voldemort a grateful look.

"My father seems much improved," she said, "and neither of my sisters nor my mother came with a black eye. Things are looking up. Thank you very sincerely."

"We made a bargain, you and I," he reminded her, "and we've both held up our ends."

"Well," Bellatrix teased, "there's a lot of the night left. Let's see how well I hold up my end of the bargain."

He smiled a bit at that, and then it was time to pretend they cared about the wedding. Faustina's comment about Acantha Greengrass had been very mean and unfounded, Bellatrix thought. Acantha looked lovely in her lacy gown, carrying a bouquet of lilies and roses and hydrangeas. She seemed profoundly happy to be marrying Callum Macmillan. This, like most Pureblood unions, was an arranged marriage, but it seemed the two of them had had plenty of time to fall in love.

Bellatrix glanced over to Narcissa, who was staring at her own betrothed, Lucius Malfoy. Would Narcissa be happy with Lucius? Bellatrix certainly hoped so. Then, as Acantha exchanged her vows with Callum, Bellatrix flicked her eyes to where Rodolphus Lestrange sat beside his brother, Rabastan. Rodolphus was a good-looking wizard of twenty-two, but he was exceedingly sour and lacking in intelligence. He had no interest in books or reading or anything besides Quidditch. He was all brute force and absolutely no brains. Bellatrix huffed a little as Rodolphus glanced over to her, looking her up and down.

"You don't have to dance with him or anything, you know," whispered a voice beside her ear, making her shiver. "You're here with a date; you don't have to spend any time with him unless you want to."

"I don't want to, My Lord," Bellatrix replied, turning her face just a little. When she did, she gasped, for his face was very close. He recoiled away and cleared his throat, and Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. She stared intently at Acantha and Callum as they finished promising themselves to one another, and then she stood and clapped with everyone else as the couple kissed and made their way back down the aisle as enchanted glitter fell from the ceiling and dissolved into the air.

Dinner was to be served then, and there was to be dancing. It was all set up in a very large tent in the expansive back lawn. As people made their way out to the lawn, Lord Voldemort got swept up into a conversation with Mr Selwyn, an older, wealthy gentleman Bellatrix had known for a long time, and with Pollux Black, Bellatrix's own grandfather. She walked alone outside, and as she did, she groaned.

"Hi, Rodolphus," she said glumly, realising she'd been a fool to think she could avoid him.

"Hullo, there. You look pretty," Rodolphus said in a dull sort of voice. Bellatrix stared up at his ruddy face and brown waves as they walked, and she said blandly,

"Good to see you."

"My father got a letter from your father." Rodolphus stopped walking, so Bellatrix did, too. She sucked in air, and Rodolphus shrugged. "He said you don't want to get married anytime soon. D'you just want to call it off or something?"

Bellatrix scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Believe me; I tried that option. No personal offence intended."

"Well. If you don't want to get married, it's fine. I kind of like being a bachelor for now, if I'm honest," Rodolphus shrugged. "I just about was sick during that wedding just now. Blech. Anyway. We can just put it off as long as you like."

"Right." Bellatrix forced a smile. "Thanks, Dolph."

"There you are. Thought I'd lost you; your grandfather is an _excellent_ conversationalist."

Bellatrix turned to see Lord Voldemort very confidently striding up to where she stood talking with Rodolphus. She gave him a wide-eyed, pleading look, and Voldemort smiled a bit.

"Mr Lestrange. A pleasure as always."

"Mr Riddle." Rodolphus nodded, and Voldemort pursed his lips a little at the name. Everyone at least knew that he preferred the term _Lord Voldemort._ It said a lot, what name someone chose to use. Voldemort held out his arm and said lightly,

"Bellatrix, I'm famished. Shall we?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. Definitely. We shall. See you, Dolph." Bellatrix laced her hand through Voldemort's elbow and pulled her body rather tightly against his, and as they walked away, she read abject surprise on Rodolphus' face.

"He really has the intelligence of a mountain troll, doesn't he?" Voldemort quipped. Bellatrix laughed a little, and as she followed Voldemort into the tent, they were shown their place at a round table by a House Elf. Voldemort politely pulled out Bellatrix's chair using impressive wandless magic, then pushed her back in, and she smiled gratefully. The others at their table were all elderly relatives of the Greengrass and Macmillan families, and Bellatrix could tell that Voldemort was irritated he had not been placed near people more useful for conversation.

"I'm sorry that I'm the only one at this table who can properly appreciate what you're trying to do," she mumbled, leaning over halfway through the appetizer of oysters on ice. He stared at her for a moment, seeming a little amazed, and she nodded. "I do appreciate it. I hope you know."

He gulped. "That is good to know."

He talked to Acantha's ancient great-grandmother for a while, and during the main course, Bellatrix made small talk with the half deaf Albert Macmillan, who needed everything shouted four times before he could understand. Mercifully, it was then time for Acantha and Callum to cut the cake, and as it was magically doled out to the guests, the dance floor was illuminated by purple and blue lantern lights, and Callum swept Acantha into a rather clumsy dance. Bellatrix watched, eating her vanilla and lemon cake, and at once point, Voldemort smirked at her over his shoulder.

"Poor girl's probably had her shoes stepped on five times by now."

"She's smiled through it, though," Bellatrix pointed out, and Voldemort sipped from his glass of Champagne as he promised,

"I won't step on your shoes, Miss Black."

Her heart thudded at that, and she had to set down her cake plate. The fork clattered obnoxiously on the china, and she felt like a fool, sitting there, staring at him, _wanting_ him. Oh, he was handsome, she thought. Charming. Charismatic. Just like people had said.

Soon enough, the dance floor opened up, and Voldemort stood, clearing his throat and holding his hand out.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, and Bellatrix thought she'd just flop right out of her chair onto the floor like a dead fish. Instead, somehow, she managed to nod and murmur,

"Thank you, My Lord."

She took his hand and stood, letting him lead her out past the tables of guests who were still nibbling cake. She held his hand as they passed Rodolphus, who appeared to be eating a second slice of cake. She held his hand as they passed her parents, who seemed surprised by what they saw, and Narcissa, who seemed awed, and Andromeda, who seemed envious. She held his hand as they stepped onto the dark parquet beneath the blue and purple and white lighting, and as the hired jazz band struck up a lively two-step, Bellatrix admitted,

"I am a terrible dancer."

"I'll lead you," he promised, and Bellatrix actually whimpered a little. She took his hand, shivering at the way his thumb rubbed her a little. She gasped when his hand touched her back, drawing her a little closer. She stared up, up, up at him, wondering if he was tall or if she was short. Both, probably. He was taller than most of the other wizards, and she was shorter than most of the other witches. She swallowed hard as they started to move, swaying to the middling tempo. Voldemort guided her firmly into a rhythm, and he told her seriously,

"You are a very good wedding date."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and told him, "You are very good at… at… what you promised to do. My father's still relatively sober, somehow."

She glanced over to where her father and mother sat talking to Abraxas and Faustina Malfoy, and then she said,

"Rodolphus said his father got a letter from my father. You have more than helped me. I can never repay you."

"You're repaying me right now," Voldemort told her. "Just dance."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded, and his eyes flashed again. His hand tightened on her back, and his fingers curled around hers. Soon, the song ended, but he didn't let her go. He just settled into the next song, a slower tempo. He pulled her a little closer, and Bellatrix felt a bit dizzy. She wanted to lay her head on his chest. That was a stupid idea, she knew, but she saw a teenaged witch doing it to her boyfriend across the dance floor. That might be nice. That seemed like it might feel nice.

"Bellatrix?"

She stared up at him then, and for a long moment, he said nothing. But then he asked,

"Where do you live?"

"Shoreditch, in London," Bellatrix answered at once. "It's a studio flat above a Muggle record shop. Day and night I hear their rock music playing. I don't mind it. It's fine."

He nodded. "And for work?"

"Nothing yet," she admitted. "I had an offer at the Ministry, but…"

"Working for the Ministry is a soul-sucking invitation to check yourself into a hellscape," Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix laughed heartily.

"You are the _only_ one who understands," she said. "Everyone insisted I was a fool not to take the position, but… Owl Registration? Eugh…"

"No. I understand," Voldemort said as they swayed. "When I left school, everyone fully expected me to climb the ladder of power at the Ministry. They didn't realise I meant to make it on my own; I didn't want to play their game."

She nodded, and they were silent for a while, until he asked softly,

"Have you any interest in working within my movement?"

"Yes," she answered at once. "All the interest in the world, My Lord."

He shut his eyes and seemed dizzy, his steps faltering for just a moment. He regained himself and said,

"I have been a rather terrible house guest to the Malfoys, I'm afraid. Abraxas has to bring people to my office; I use their owls and their House-Elf. I could stand to have someone helping me with office work."

"What, like a secretary?" Bellatrix asked, and he tipped his head.

"An... assistant, yes. Comprehensive duties to include administrative and personal needs that I should be outsourcing at this point. It wouldn't pay handsomely, but certainly enough to afford a studio flat above a record shop. Are you interested in the position?"

Bellatrix grinned and nodded. "Yes! When can I interview?"

"Interview?" he scoffed. "Consider yourself applied, vetted, and interviewed, Miss Black. If you want the job, you begin on Monday. My office, Malfoy Manor, eight in the morning, and don't be late."

"I am always ten minutes early," Bellatrix assured him, laughing a bit. The slow song ended, and she nodded and said again, "Thank you."

"It isn't charity," he reminded her, taking up the faster foxtrot that the band had begun to play. "I expect good work from you."

Bellatrix was breathless by the end of the faster song, and she was grateful for the slightly slower two-step that came next.

"Water break?" Voldemort asked her, and she gratefully accepted. They went to their table and swigged down a bit of water, and Bellatrix surreptitiously turned away to check her lipstick with her handbag.

"Merlin's beard. I didn't realise how late it had gotten," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix took that as a cue that he wanted to leave. She turned back, shutting her bag, and she flicked the corners of her lips up as she said,

"Well. I got dinner and four dances for my troubles. I feel as though I've contributed absolutely nothing to this bargain."

He shook his head and put his hands into his pockets, and he asked her,

"Will you at least permit me to be the sort of gentleman who Apparates a lady to her doorway to say goodnight?"

Bellatrix's chest pulled a little, and she nodded.

"Of course, My Lord."

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip at that, and he looked around.

"Everyone's busy. No need to say goodbye; I think we can just go."

They walked out onto the lawn, and Voldemort held out his arm and said,

"Take me by Side-Along, since I don't exactly know the place."

"Yes, sir." Bellatrix shut her eyes and pitched them into the squeezing black emptiness that was the space between places, the momentary Nothing of Apparition. When they came to, they were on the first floor of the red brick building where she lived, and downstairs, a record player was very loudly blasting music that Bellatrix recognized as The Rolling Stones' "Satisfaction." She'd heard it very often from the record shop over the last few weeks of living here. Bellatrix opened her bag and pulled out her key, though of course she could have just used _Alohomora_ to unlock her door. She was always cautious of the Muggle woman who lived the next floor up, though.

"Well," Bellatrix huffed, "Thank you for making my end of the bargain a remarkably light burden, My Lord."

He stood before her, hovering over her, making her back up against the door, and he whispered,

"Say that again."

She nodded, feeling woozy. "My Lord. _My Lord_."

"Oh." He bent down a little then, cradling her face in his hand, which shook just a bit. His lips were so close to hers, and Bellatrix thought for sure he would kiss her. But he just breathed in and out a few times and whispered,

"You were a beautiful wedding date, Bellatrix. I'll see you on Monday for work, hm?"

"Yes, My Lord," she replied, very meaningfully. She met his eyes, and for a long moment, he stared and stared. Then, finally, his mouth came crashing down against hers, and she gasped. His lips caressed hers, pushing, pulling, nibbling and licking a little. Then he pulled away, clearing his throat and dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth, and she could see in the flickering light from the wall sconce that his cheeks were red.

"Goodnight," he mumbled, and she nodded.

"Goodnight."

Then, silently and expertly, he Disapparated, leaving her standing alone with her key in her hand.

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. This one's going to be a bit more salacious and a bit sweeter round the edges than the fic we just left. But I think we need a breather, no? This should be fun. I hope you enjoy the ride. As always, thanks for reading and please do review if you get a moment.**


	3. Points of My Command

He should not have kissed her, Voldemort thought as he examined his office space. He sighed and straightened the stack of books and ledgers on the small desk he'd brought in for her. He should not have kissed her.

But she had smelled like freshly washed linen hanging out to dry just before a rainstorm came in. She had smelled like summer rain. She had stared up at him with her big doe eyes and her enthusiasm about working for him, and she'd said it over and over. _My Lord_. So he'd kissed her.

He blinked a few times and looked up to see Abraxas Malfoy standing in the office doorway. Voldemort had sent Dobby after him.

"I wanted to let you know, Malfoy, that I've hired an assistant," Voldemort said crisply. "That way, you don't have to be an errand boy; you can be free to attend to your own matters. You know I'm grateful for the work space. And your House Elf will be less tied up with my needs."

"Oh." Malfoy looked a little surprised, but he studied the wooden desk and chair and asked, "Who have you hired, sir?"

"Oh. Erm… Bellatrix Black," Voldemort said simply, straightening the books that were already very straight. When he looked up, Malfoy looked sceptical but kept quiet, and Voldemort shrugged. "She's living on her own in London, but she's not employed at the moment. She won't need much salary. She's quite keen on the movement. She's an intelligent girl. I think she'll do fine."

"Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best," Malfoy said with a little smile. "I'll have Dobby give her access to the gate and the front doors."

"Thank you." Voldemort cleared his throat and walked over to the office window, staring out on the elegant topiaries and well-manicured rose bushes. Lucius was already outside, flying around on the latest model of broomstick, tossing a Quaffle through the practise Quidditch hoop Abraxas had commissioned for the boy. Suddenly there was a blur of black, and Voldemort's heart thudded as he saw Bellatrix wave up to Lucius, who waved back down. Bellatrix headed up the front stairs of the manor and was shown inside by Dobby, and Voldemort moved to stand in front of his desk.

It seemed to take forever for her to arrive. Why was she moving so slowly? He glanced into a mirror on the wall and combed at his hair a little with his fingers, unsure of why he cared what it looked like. There were a few too many grey hairs these days, he thought distantly. He scowled and straightened the tie he had on beneath his midnight blue robe, and then there was a knock on the threshold of his door. He froze, caught in the act of messing with his tie, and immediately turned to the door.

"Miss Black," he said tightly, and he gestured for her to enter. She smiled a little as she came in, and Voldemort moved to shut the door behind her. He took a moment, for some strange reason, to observe that she'd dressed quite professionally in a high-necked black top and a black pencil skirt. She wore a wispy robe over the top of it all, a summery weight chiffon that was belted round her tiny waist and moved like water. She had worn her curls down today, and she had flat black shoes on, but she looked abjectly professional.

"Good morning," she said, and she moved her fingers anxiously around her oddly bent wand. Voldemort nodded.

"Morning. You were right; you're ten minutes early."

"Sorry," she said, but he shook his head and insisted,

"Far better early than late. So. I've only got the one office. We'll have to share space. I hope that'll do. I prefer to work in quiet."

"I have to listen to music day and night at my flat. Quiet's fine," Bellatrix nodded. Voldemort swallowed hard and gestured over to the corner.

"This is your desk. This brown ledger here contains my monthly income and expenses. Please add to the income column when necessary; I may receive donations in kind from supporters or monthly contributions. That will be clear when it happens. Expenses will also be clear; I pay rent for my flat, and then there are food expenses. I may also ask you to buy a small gift to thank a supporter… are you willing to make occasional trips to Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, or Hogsmeade for that?"

"Oh, yes. Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort's breath hitched. There it was again. _My Lord_. Why did it sound so very delicious from her? He picked up the next book and said,

"This is a journal. I'd like you to make a daily entry about anything significant. Any important letters I've received that day, any correspondences or meeting notes. Things like that. Basically, this is for keeping tabs on the important daily happenings. If there's a meeting I'm not comfortable having you sit in on, you'll be excused and I'll tell you what to write later."

"Got it," Bellatrix nodded.

"The owlery is upstairs, all the way on the third storey," Voldemort said. "I've only been able to check for letters once or twice a day, which isn't enough; I'd prefer to get things as soon as possible. Don't open letters. Just bring them to me. They'll obviously be addressed to either _Lord Voldemort_ or _Tom Riddle_ depending on who's sent them. I'd like you to check first thing when you arrive, then at eleven, two, five, and just before you leave."

"So, bookending the day, and every three hours between. Got it," Bellatrix nodded. "Do you get the _Daily Prophet_ in the morning, My Lord?"

"Yes. That will always be there, and I should like it first thing. Dobby knows to bring in a tea cart with some pastries for me. What shall I have him add to that for you?"

"Oh." Bellatrix looked surprised, and she shook her head. "No, it's fine. Thank you. I'll eat before I come."

Voldemort frowned. "That's silly. Do you like scones? I always eat a scone with good black tea in the morning."

Bellatrix smiled and nodded. "Perfect."

"Lunch is taken at noon; I usually eat with the Malfoys if they're here. If I'm busy, I'll just eat at my desk. A sandwich or something quick. You can just let Dobby know what you'd like. Don't tell me you'll pack a lunch from home."

Bellatrix's cheeks went a little pink, but she nodded. Voldemort chewed his lip and shrugged.

"Occasionally, I may ask you to stay a bit late if I've got an odd meeting and I want good notes taken. Sometimes there will be hours on end with nothing to do; you may just read to occupy yourself. Your compensation will be six Galleons plus twelve Muggle pounds per week… for your flat. Does this all sound acceptable?"

Bellatrix grinned broadly and nodded. She seemed rather emotional then, and she whispered,

"My mum wrote and said that my father hadn't had a drink all day yesterday. Your Imperius Curse is doing wonders. I'd work for free."

"Well. No, you won't do that," Voldemort scoffed. He shrugged. "Why don't you start by checking the owlery, then?"

Once she had gone, he settled in at his desk and muttered to acknowledge Dobby, who brought in a tea cart. He asked for extra tea cups, water, and scones, which Dobby produced with a few snaps of his fingers and waves of his hands. House-Elf magic was strange, Voldemort thought as he made himself up a cup of tea. He took his tea brewed quite strong; he liked to use two tea bags and no sugar at all. He let the tea steep until it was probably far too bitter for most people's liking, and then he Vanished the bags. He set the tea cup down and put a scone on a plate, cutting into it and putting a dollop of clotted cream inside.

As he chewed, he contemplated that he quite liked the idea of having someone else run his errands for him. If he wanted to thank Avery for a sizeable donation, he could send Bellatrix to Diagon Alley for a little trinket and have her box it up and send it off. That felt rather powerful. Even now, as Bellatrix came walking into the office with a newspaper and two sealed scrolls, he felt powerful, for someone else was doing his bidding. Voldemort sipped at his tea and set down his scone, and as he accepted the mail, he told Bellatrix,

"Help yourself to breakfast. Thank you."

She hesitated for a moment, but then she carefully began making herself some tea and putting some cream and a scone onto a plate. She carried it back to her desk, and as she ate, Voldemort glanced at the headline of the _Daily Prophet_.

 _SQUIBS' RIGHTS MARCHERS INSIST NO PROGRESS HAS BEEN MADE._

He scoffed at the fact that that was the lead story, setting the paper aside for a moment. He broke into the first letter and glanced over it to see that it was a thank-you note signed jointly by the Greengrass and Macmillan families. It did not seem to be a form letter, and it was addressed to _Lord Voldemort._

"Interesting," Voldemort murmured, and Bellatrix looked up from her desk. She opened the daily journal, setting her scone down and dipping her quill into ink. Voldemort said to her,

"The Greengrasses and Macmillans are not Death Eaters, but they specifically thanked me for _gracing the wedding with the presence of such an important political figure_. And they made the letter out to _Lord Voldemort_. The bride and groom and all four parents signed."

"That certainly is interesting, My Lord," Bellatrix said as she jotted down some notes in the journal. Voldemort held the letter up and told her,

"Keep this in the file folder on your desk, the one labeled _Documents._ I may need it later."

"Yes, sir." She rose and hurried over, and he thought to himself that she moved very lightly, like a little bird flitting about. He broke open the second letter and read through it, and then he said,

"Another thank-you note. This one from your mother."

"Oh." Bellatrix raised her eyes, frowning. "How could she know you had anything to do with my father's -"

"She was thanking me for taking you to the wedding," Voldemort said, feeling amused. "Apparently I was doing you some sort of favour. Well. I'm not going to complain if Druella Rosier Black, whose blood is just about as pure as it comes, thinks I've done her family a favour by escorting her daughter to an event."

"Still probably not worth filing that one," Bellatrix said, seeing quite embarrassed, and Voldemort chuckled a bit. He Vanished the letter and shook his head as he admitted,

"I haven't got any actual meetings today. Tomorrow, I've got a meeting with Yaxley to discuss his new position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; I'd like him spying diligently for me there. But today's rather quiet. You can go… I probably won't stay, to be honest."

"Oh. I thought you lived here, for some reason," Bellatrix admitted. Then she laughed and shrugged. "That wouldn't make much sense."

"No. I live in London," Voldemort told her. She seemed fascinated to hear that, and he specified, "Your grandfather Pollux Black is exceedingly generous when it comes to supporting my cause. He made a one-time donation that I use specifically for renting out a spacious, lovely place in Highgate, and my monthly expenses are covered by in kind donations from my Death Eaters."

"I see." Bellatrix looked as though she'd pried, though he'd given her that information very willingly. She chewed at her lip a little, and Voldemort admitted,

"It certainly has occurred to me that perhaps I ought to use your own grandfather's money to arrange for something better than a studio flat above a record shop."

Bellatrix smirked and shook her head. "No. I chose not to take the Ministry job. I chose to leave my parents' home, which is very nice."

"So long as your father isn't using its furnishings to attack you," Voldemort pointed out, and then he thought perhaps he'd stepped too far. Bellatrix shrugged a little and dared to ask,

"Do you live alone, My Lord?"

Married. She was asking if he was married. Of course he wasn't married; why would he have needed a date to a wedding if he'd been married? But he patiently informed her,

"I rattle around my three bedroom terraced house like a marble in a big empty box. Very much alone, I'm afraid. I haven't even got a cat or anything."

"Oh. That sounds… quiet." Bellatrix laughed, and after she took a sip of her tea, she asked him, "You don't hear 'Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye' on repeat up through your shaking floorboards?"

Voldemort scoffed and drank his own bitter tea. "No. I can't say that I do. My next-door neighbour is a very elderly Half-Blood witch who keeps very quiet, and on the other side is a St Mungo's Healer who lives alone and is gone most of the time. The rest of the neighbourhood are Muggles."

"Well. Should you ever want a roommate, you need only ask," Bellatrix said, and he couldn't tell if she was joking. She stared at her scone and said, "I would gladly transfer my twelve pounds' worth of rent and be as quiet as a mouse and far less destructive."

She took a bite of scone then, and Voldemort felt rather awkward. He sipped more tea and picked up the _Daily Prophet_ , forcing himself to read for ten solid minutes about new regulations on Quidditch robes in competitive play. He was bored and drowsy by the time his eyes scanned over an ad for a wizarding resort in French Polynesia. He finally set the newspaper down and said,

"Right. Well. I think I'll head home for the day. That meeting tomorrow with Yaxley is at nine, so… if we can get morning business done quickly. Be prepared to take good notes in the notebook and summarise in the journal, if you please."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix stood. She straightened her desk, Scouring crumbs and then clearing her plate and teacup onto the middle layer of the tea cart. She was rather close then, and Voldemort could swear he could smell the summer rain on her again. But she just smiled a bit and said,

"I am grateful to you. I hope you know."

"I know." He nodded and straightened his back. "I told Malfoy, and I meant it. I think you'll do a fine job. See you tomorrow."

She looked around and shrugged. "I feel like I should… I dunno… Scour the dust in the room or something."

"You're an assistant, not a House-Elf," Voldemort pointed out. Bellatrix smiled at him and shrugged.

"I have to earn my keep."

"You're fine." He needed her to leave then. He felt an overwhelming desire to taste tea on her lips, and he needed her to leave. "See you tomorrow."

"Right." She seemed to sense that she was being summarily dismissed, so she nodded politely and began to walk briskly from the room. "Good day, My Lord."

As she shut the door behind her, he closed his eyes tightly and balled his fists, and he whispered rather helplessly, "Good day, Bellatrix."


	4. Thou Hast Slept Well

"Two slow news days in a row," Voldemort said, looking up from the _Daily Prophet_. It was all there had been waiting for him in the owlery, and he scoffed as he pointed to the headline. " _MADAM MALKIN'S CLOSING FOR ONE WEEK AS OWNER GOES ON HOLIDAY._ I mean… really? The robe shop is closing for a week, and that's front page news?"

Bellatrix grinned from where she sat. She felt weak and fatigued, and she struggled not to yawn before she said,

"Well. I suppose if someone else were planning on going on holiday, and now they can't buy new clothes? I don't know. Sounds to me like they need something more exciting to happen."

"Is that a suggestion?" Voldemort smirked, and Bellatrix smiled.

"Those riots last autumn were rather nice," she said. "Perhaps someone could cast a Slippery Floor Jinx on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley? That'd be funny and would probably warrant the front page. It got me two Saturdays' detention when I did it as a third year at Hogwarts."

Voldemort snorted and informed her, "Sounds like you were lousy at not getting caught."

She couldn't help yawning then, trying to suppress it with her fist, and Voldemort scowled at her as she mumbled an apology. Bellatrix knew her eyes were heavily bagged, too. She said meekly,

"I didn't sleep a wink last night. I do apologise, My Lord."

"Why didn't you sleep?" His voice was tight, almost accusatory, and Bellatrix explained,

"My next-door neighbours are two twenty-something Muggle men. They had a party until four in the morning, and by then it was far too late to sleep. I swear, the glass in the windows was buzzing. I've been using Dreamless Sleep many nights because of the street traffic and the record shop, so… anyway, I was all out. I was afraid that if I put a spell on myself, I wouldn't wake in time for work. So I just didn't sleep. Have you, by any chance, got any Invigoration Draught?"

"Oh. Erm… yes. There's a potions store in the library. Just down the corridor. I'll go get it. I know where it is."

"I can go." Bellatrix rose from her desk, but Voldemort had already come around from where he'd been sitting, and he put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

"Yaxley will be here in a few minutes. Get your notebook ready. I'll go get the potion."

Bellatrix glanced to where his fingers had curled around her shoulder, then up to him, and he quickly pulled his hand away. She nodded.

"Yes, My Lord."

While he was gone, she opened her leather notebook of parchment and prepared an inkwell. She sat at her desk and wrote,

 _Meeting Notes - Corban Yaxley - 29 June 1970, 9 am, Malfoy Manor_.

"Here you are. This is a good strong version; only a few drops, or you'll be bouncing off the walls." Voldemort handed over a pretty little glass bottle to Bellatrix, and she smiled as she administered herself a few drops of the pearlescent blue-green liquid. She closed the bottle and handed it back, and she said sincerely,

"I appreciate it. I had half a mind to hex all those partying Muggles last night, but I reckoned trouble from the Ministry wasn't something that would benefit anyone. I had some ideas."

"Did you?" Voldemort took the bottle of Invigoration Draught back and Banished it with his wand, sending it flying out of the office. "What sort of ideas?"

Bellatrix smirked, knowing he wouldn't mind her nasty thoughts from the night before.

"Oh," she said, "I was going to cast some Emesis Hexes so they'd all think they'd gotten food poisoning from the party food. Fill their flat up with blue smoke so everyone would leave. Break their damned expensive record player and loud speakers. I did aim my wand out my window and shut theirs, but they kept opening the window back up. I finally Epoximised the window shut, but it didn't help with noise, and it didn't end the party. So."

Voldemort was chuckling a little, and he shook his head as he told her,

"Well. I'm sorry you didn't get sleep."

"I feel better now, My Lord," she told him honestly, for she did feel a surge of energy going through her. She felt like dancing, all of a sudden, like dancing the foxtrot they'd done at the wedding. She almost reached for him, but then she stopped herself, blinking quickly. Voldemort appeared to swallow quite firmly as he stared down at her, and then there was a knock on the threshold of the office door.

"Mr Yaxley!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "Do come in. May I offer you tea or coffee?"

"Miss Black." Yaxley looked surprised, and Voldemort explained simply,

"My assistant."

"Oh!" Yaxley smiled a bit and said to Bellatrix, "I'm fine. Nothing to drink. Thank you."

Bellatrix shut the door behind Yaxley, and he went to sit in the chair opposite Voldemort. Bellatrix took her place at her desk, and Voldemort flashed her a grateful look as she dipped her quill and prepared to take notes.

"So," Voldemort said to Yaxley, who was tall and blond like Abraxas Malfoy. It was obvious they were cousins. "You're now the head of the Investigation Department. Charged with hunting down Dark witches and wizards. Rather ironic."

"Barty Crouch has, as he says, _all the respect in the world for my commitment and integrity,_ " Yaxley smiled. "It will be very easy now to mask any activities. Disappearances can be chalked up to other mysterious happenings whilst the people still _know_ it was your supporters. Attacks against Mudbloods, against their spouses, can be left open-ended. I won't allow any of your Death Eaters to be arrested."

Bellatrix smiled as she wrote in the notes, _Yaxley now head of Investigation Department. Expresses dedication to masking Dark activities and protecting actions performed by Death Eaters._

"I'd like regular reports," Voldemort nodded. "I intend on coordinating as many attacks against Mudbloods as we can plausibly pull off. I'd like to hear from you what the Ministry is doing and saying in reaction to this, and what you're doing to cover it up. Shall we agree… an owl directly to me every two weeks, or more often if something acute occurs?"

"That's perfectly reasonable, My Lord, and I shall obviously present any pertinent information to the group at meetings to help support ongoing operations," Yaxley said. Bellatrix scribbled down notes as quickly as she could. Voldemort seemed in a very good mood then as he told Yaxley,

"I am pleased. This development pleases me greatly. Do good work for them; keep giving them the impression that you are a solid Ministry employee. Get some rapscrabble nobody arrested every now and then. Not one of ours, obviously. Do your job for them, and do your job for me."

"I promise, My Lord," Yaxley said firmly. Bellatrix's heart accelerated to see loyalty to Voldemort. This was very different from how he'd been treated at the wedding, when the crowd had acted like he was ordinary. Yaxley stood with Voldemort, and when Yaxley bowed his head, Bellatrix flew to her feet. She went to the door and opened it, giving a little curtsy to Yaxley as she said,

"Shall I show you out, or can the House Elf do it?"

"Oh, Dobby'll be fine," Yaxley said. "Good day, Miss Black. My Lord."

"Good day, Yaxley." Voldemort smiled a very self-congratulatory way then, and he sat back down at his desk. Bellatrix sat, too, and the rest of the morning passed in rather happy quiet as Voldemort studied the newspaper and then a book full of maps of Britain. Bellatrix read a novel about a Dark wizard with whom two twin witches were in love. It was droll and stupid, and after awhile, she could feel the Invigoration Draught wearing off. She started to nod off as she read, and eventually she heard a voice above her say gently,

"At least it's quiet in here."

Bellatrix jolted, gasping and staring far up to where Voldemort stood above her desk. She slammed her novel down on her desk and stammered,

"I'm so… I apologise. This book was very dull, and the potion was wearing off."

Voldemort turned up half his mouth. Bellatrix blinked and realised she'd fallen rather deeply asleep; there was a stack of opened envelopes on Voldemort's desk. He'd gone to the owlery without her. She gasped and felt terrible all of a sudden.

"Oh, no," she moaned, flinging herself to her feet. "I fell asleep on the job. Literally. I'm sorry; I'll refund you my wages."

"Bellatrix." Voldemort rolled his eyes and handed her two parchments. "File these in the documents, folder, please; they're requests for work within the movement from wizards that aren't quite elite enough, given how underground we still are. I've written back to say that there may be a place for them later. I've already sent the letters back."

Bellatrix's cheeks burned like fire and her fingers shook like mad as she reached for the Documents folder. She opened its accordion format and thumbed to the _Letters_ tab. She carefully placed the letters inside and then closed the large folder, and she stared up at Voldemort as she mumbled,

"I really am very sorry."

"Here. For tonight. In case there are any more parties," he said. He held out a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, which Bellatrix hesitantly accepted. She reached into the small drawstring bag around her waist and started rifling for a few Sickles, but Voldemort snatched at her hand and scolded her,

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Sorry," she said again, and he huffed,

"Would you _please_ stop apologising? Go home and take a nap. There's nothing significant left to do today anyway. Go eat some lunch and go take a nap. Hm?"

Bellatrix didn't tell him that it would be thunderingly loud in the afternoon, when the record store was at its busiest. She just nodded a little, and then he chomped hard on his lip and offered,

"You know, it's a lot quieter in Highgate this time of day. I've got three bedrooms; you could use one of the spare ones just to lie down and get some peace and quiet."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide, and she watched Voldemort's cheeks redden, and he shrugged.

"Just an offer."

"I couldn't…" Bellatrix shook her head, though the idea of lying down in a plush bed in a quiet house right now sounded absolutely marvelous. He must have read that in her eyes, because he smirked a little and reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a very ordinary-looking silver key on a ring with a large leather tab. He held out the key and said,

"Number 14, Cressida Road, Highgate, London. Say it, so I know you won't Splinch."

Bellatrix blinked, feeling breathless. "Number 14, Cressida Road, Highgate, London."

She took the key, staring at it, and Voldemort said simply,

"It's a red brick Victorian terrace. Mine is the one with robin's egg blue door. Up on the first floor, there's a big master to the left. That's mine. But there's a small bathroom and two small bedrooms to the back of the house. You're welcome to lie down in either, though I think the bed in the blue room is a bit cushier."

Bellatrix's breath caught in her chest a little, and she looked around the office.

"I should stay and work."

"And do what?" Voldemort shrugged. "You filed the letters. You took notes during my only meeting of the day. Go and rest, Bellatrix. And, soon enough, we'll need to figure out a living arrangement for you that allows you to sleep at night without becoming a Dreamless Sleep addict. You're no use to me exhausted."

He'd added that list bit quickly, and it stung a little. Bellatrix closed her hand around the key he'd given her, and she said firmly,

"I want to do good work for you, My Lord."

"Then," he said, almost kindly, "go take a nap. The blue bedroom is the best, I think. There's tea in the kitchen, and biscuits and the like."

"All right. Thank you." Bellatrix studied his face for a moment. She studied his thick brows, the little bit of grey in his hair. She stared at his thin upper lip and his fuller bottom one. She eyed his sharp cheekbones and jawline, and she said again, "Thank you, My Lord."

Then she Disapparated, thinking to herself, _Number 14, Cressida Road, Highgate, London._

When she came to, she was standing beside a tall, manicured hedge separating the small front garden of a red brick terraced house from the sidewalk. She walked up to the door, a faded robin's egg blue with a brass number 14 hanging on it. She anxiously put the key into the lock and turned the ornamental brass knob, and when she stepped inside, she gasped a little.

He _lived_ here. This was his home. She glanced to the left, into the comfortable but somewhat formal sitting room, which had cream-coloured walls and dark brown curtains to match the dark wood floors. The furniture was dark, too, but the fireplace was painted cream. Bellatrix peered through the smallish dining room with its elegant table and six chairs, and through to the kitchen with its cabinetry painted the same turquoise as the house's front door. On the right side of the house was a formal parlour with an upright piano, a stiff-looking sofa, and many bookshelves, and then there was an airy breakfast nook at the back with many windows that seemed to look out upon a little grassy garden.

Bellatrix climbed the wooden stairs, which were narrow but sturdy, and she tried not to look into the bedroom to the left. That was the master suite. That was where _he_ slept, where he passed his nights. But she couldn't help glancing in, and she saw that it was a room painted in clean dove grey. The bed was wide and low, with simple but vibrant red furnishings and a modern black frame. The dresser and wardrobe were black, too. It was a very masculine space. The door to the bathroom was open through the bedroom, and Bellatrix winced. He shaved in there. He bathed in there.

She continued on to the back of the first floor, just like he'd told her to do. She glanced to the right, to a pale yellow room with a very uncomfortable-looking single bed and an old white dresser. There was another bathroom, a simple room with a stand-up shower, a pedestal sink, and a toilet. And then there was the blue room.

Bellatrix smiled a little as she walked into the bedroom that bordered the master with one wall. It was painted the colour of the summer sky, and the double bed had been made up with a down blanket and a deep blue duvet. The bright white furniture seemed shiny and new, and wispy white curtains hung at the window that overlooked the garden. Bellatrix kicked off her flat black shoes and set her wand down beside the bed, and she peeled back the blankets. As she climbed into the bed, she let out a hiss of comfort.

She'd grown up with money, but neither her lousy Shoreditch flat nor the dormitories at Hogwarts had come anywhere near this. The moment her head touched the feather-stuffed pillow, she shut her eyes, pulling the plush and cosy down comforter around her. She breathed in the fresh scent of clean linens, and she listened.

Nothing.

It was quiet. There was a soft rustle of leaves from the oak tree she'd seen out back, the one that was large enough to straddle three of the terraced gardens with its sprawling branches. But that was a soothing sound, one that lulled Bellatrix straight to sleep.

She was very comfortable here, she thought, and that was the last thing her mind registered before she was entirely lost to the nap she'd been commanded to take.

 **Author's Note: Oh, my. He's ordering her to nap in his house. What does this** _ **mean?**_ **Haha. To the reader who PMd me having picked up on the fact that both the title and the chapter titles are from Shakespeare's** _ **The Tempest**_ **\- Twenty points to your House. Now the rest of you know. ;) For those looking for the main songs to accompany this story, they are:**

 **\- Somebody to Love (Queen)**

 **\- Say Yes (Elliott Smith)**

 **\- Don't Be Scared (Andrew Bird)**

 **\- Uptown Girl (Billy Joel)**

 **\- And We Begin (Bella Hardy)**


	5. Strange Bedfellows

He let her sleep until seven o'clock, but by then he thought she'd regret sleeping more. She'd wake at one in the morning with a demolished internal clock, Voldemort thought.

He got takeaway from the fish and chips place down the road, a Muggle establishment where he could easily Confound the proprietor into handing over the food for free. Voldemort kept the food on the counter in the kitchen and enchanted it to stay warm, thinking the smell would wake Bellatrix. By half past six, he was strongly considering stomping around like an elephant to wake Bellatrix. But when it reached seven and she was still silent upstairs, he scowled and decided he owed it to her to wake her up and give her some dinner before sending her home.

He carefully climbed the stairs, his wand pulled out and ready in case she panicked upon waking. When he reached the top of the stairs, he flicked his wand at the lamps on the walls that he'd illegally adapted from electric to magical lanterns. The candlelight glowed, though the sun was still up; Voldemort wouldn't want this corridor darkening later.

He reached the blue bedroom and stood in the threshold, feeling rather perverted standing there and watching her sleep. Bellatrix was very lovely, he thought. He'd been thinking it all afternoon. She was entirely open to hexing and jinxing people. She was happy about him casting an Unforgivable on her father. She'd contentedly taken notes as Yaxley described the way he'd hide attacks on Mudbloods. She was a hard worker, despite her fatigue. Behaviourally, she was an ideal servant. And she was very pretty.

Suddenly he remembered the feel of dancing with her at the wedding, the way it had felt to have her hand in his, to smell the summer rain on her and see the little sparkle of her eyeshadow when she blinked. His breath caught strangely, and his throat tightened a little where he stood in the doorway.

He had not bothered much with witches in his life. In school, they'd seemed obnoxious and cloying. Aside from a few kisses and one stray, unpleasant romp in a deserted classroom, the young Tom Riddle had not had the time or attention to grant to the witches who had found him so handsome. Working at Borgin and Burkes, and then traveling the Continent studying the Dark Arts, witches had felt like a distraction at best and a threat at worst. There had been a few drunken hookups in Paris in his twenties, but aside from that, nothing. Lord Voldemort had not put his hands properly on a witch in almost twenty years. But in just the past few days, he'd danced with Bellatrix. He'd _kissed_ her.

She looked like a doll, lying there in the bed. She looked peaceful and quiet and beautiful, and Voldemort shivered where he stood. He needed to wake her now. He couldn't just stand here staring at her. He needed to wake her now. But as he raised his fist to the door, he stared a little more, and he lowered his fist.

She had shiny hair. Her curls were very shiny. Her lips were very full. Her eyelashes were very long, and her…

He needed to wake her now. He couldn't stand here staring at her like some kind of predator. He raised his fist and pounded insistently on the bedroom doorway. It was far more vigorous a knock than he'd intended, but it certainly did the job of waking her. Bellatrix jolted, sitting up and snatching at her wand from the table beside the bed.

She blinked, staring at Voldemort with bleary eyes, and she looked at once embarrassed and shocked. She lowered her wand and mumbled,

"I feel like I've been asleep for ages."

"Well. A good long while," he confirmed. "It's seven."

" _Seven?_ Oh, My Lord; I'm so sorry." Bellatrix sprang out of the bed and scrambled to make it, to yank the comforter back up and arrange the pillows. She rubbed at her eyes and said frantically, "I was just so _comfortable._ It was so quiet. I'm sorry. I must have slept like the dead. I'm so sorry."

"Please, I wish you would stop apologising," Voldemort said rather sharply. Bellatrix turned to look at him, and he shrugged. "It was fine. Nothing significant happened after you left; I played Wizard's Chess with Abraxas Malfoy for two hours. So. I've got fish and chips downstairs if you're hungry."

"Oh. That's kind of you. I never did eat lunch," Bellatrix thought aloud, and Voldemort smirked a bit. He led her down the stairs, and from behind him, she said sincerely,

"I am so grateful that you let me come and rest here, My Lord. It was so serene. All I could hear was the tree rustling outside. There was no pounding from the record shop downstairs, no car horns outside, no shouting in the street or parties next door. It was heavenly."

Voldemort's stomach twisted a little. It seemed rather stupid that she was going to eat fish and chips and then return to the hovel she was paying rent to live in. She seemed to have liked the blue room just fine. He sighed a little as he walked with her through the sitting room and dining room and into the kitchen, and he pulled plates out of the cupboard.

"I've got a pitcher of lemonade chilling here; do you care for it?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix looked surprised.

"Erm… yes. Thank you My Lord."

She started doling out the takeaway, which was still hot, onto plates, and Voldemort watched her shake some malt vinegar onto hers. He liked malt vinegar on his, too. He smiled a bit to himself as he poured them lemonade. This was oddly pleasant. As they sat at the dining room table, the sun began to dip a bit, and Voldemort used his want to light the overhead chandelier.

"Have you converted this whole place?" Bellatrix asked. "I just have to go without the electricity in my flat; it makes my magic wonky."

"Well, it's not legal to convert a Muggle dwelling, but I don't care much for the law," Voldemort said. "I used to use the refrigerator and things, but the wiring would make a few spells backfire oddly every now and then. Not worth it. Anyway, I despise their so-called 'technology.' I'm a wizard; I'll live like a damned wizard, thank you."

He'd been harsh in speaking then, but he seemed to have energised Bellatrix, who nodded vigorously and set down her half-eaten fried fish.

"Precisely!" she exclaimed. "That's why it drives me mad, living where I am. I'm surrounded by bloody Muggles. Below me, playing their infernal, stupid music day and night. Next door, partying at all hours. The stupid old woman living above me is mostly deaf and watches her television with the volume all the way up. I have to hear her comedy programmes all the time. They aren't funny. And then there's the record shop owner, who doesn't know how to keep his damned hands to himself."

Voldemort froze with a bite of fish in his mouth. He chewed it, trying to stay calm, set it down, sipped some lemonade, and demanded softly,

"Whatever do you mean?"

Bellatrix's full lips parted, and she shook her head quickly. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Voldemort blinked and scowled. "What do you _mean_ , he doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself?"

Bellatrix's face went very red, and she looked humiliated.

"He liked to touch my bottom when I go up the stairs. That's all," she said. "He makes a game of it. I try and pass him; I sometimes Confound him if I can manage so he doesn't see me. But occasionally he'll grab my bottom. He likes to see if he can catch me. I slapped him once; that only seemed to make it worse. And, anyway, he owns the building; I pay him my rent. He's my landlord. So."

Voldemort's eyes went wide, and his breath quickened in his nostrils with sudden, unexpected anger. He swigged at his lemonade and seethed,

"You should just slice his legs off."

"And wind up in Azkaban?" Bellatrix scoffed. "With all due respect, My Lord, I don't think even Yaxley could save me from something like that. Believe me; I've thought of all sorts of things to do to that beast. His hair smells like patchouli."

"I don't care what he smells like." Voldemort chomped hard on his lip and shook his head, pushing his plate of fish and chips away and saying, "What, you're going to go back there tonight and have your backside grabbed by some filthy Muggle?"

"Not if I can help it," Bellatrix said, sounding at once playful and nervous, and Voldemort tipped his head.

"It's hardly funny, is it?"

Her smile disappeared. "No. It isn't, My Lord. But I've nowhere else to go. I can either have lamps and fists thrown at me at home, or I can be grabbed by my landlord and surrounded by the chaos of Muggle tenement life."

"Your father is under control," Voldemort noted, and Bellatrix nodded.

"Well, perhaps I should move back home, then, though I confess I relish the freedom of not living there."

He dragged his finger around the rim of his glass and stared at the lemonade for a long moment. He sniffed, thinking of her in the blue bedroom, thinking of dancing with her, of kissing her, of her being grabbed, of her unable to sleep because there was cacophony all around her.

"Two Galleons a week," he mumbled, and when he looked up, Bellatrix looked very confused. He cleared his throat and said firmly, "I shall amend your compensation for your work; you'll now be paid ten Galleons per week. No Muggle money. And I'm offering you a new lodging situation. You may have the blue bedroom and the upstairs bathroom, along with access to the downstairs common spaces, for two Galleons per week."

Bellatrix looked shocked. She shook her head and scoffed, seeming very unsure of what to say.

"I can't be your… your _tenant_ , Master," she said, and he shrugged.

"Why not? We work out bargains, you and I. You needed help with your father, which I gave in exchange for you attending a Pureblood wedding as my aristocratic guest. You needed employment, and I needed an assistant. Your current housing situation is dire, and I have excess space and need to be frugal with my monthly expenses. I also need my assistant to be functional. So, Miss Black, I am offering you the blue bedroom and the upstairs bathroom in exchange for two Galleons per week."

"Four," Bellatrix said at once, folding her hands on the table, and he gave her a crooked smile.

"Three. Final offer."

"Three Galleons." She looked a little breathless then, a little emotional. She glanced around the house, and Voldemort wondered just what the blazes was the matter with him. A week ago, he had hardly any idea who Bellatrix Black was. Now he'd danced with her and kissed her. He'd hired her and was taking her into his home as a tenant. What on Earth was wrong with him? Had he completely lost his mind?

Bellatrix reached into the drawstring purse around her waist, and she counted out six golden coins, which she pushed toward Voldemort a little.

"The first two weeks' rent, My Lord," she said. "I should probably go fetch my things from that awful hovel in Shoreditch."

"I'll come with you," Voldemort said firmly, rising to his feet and Banishing their dishes to the kitchen. "I have a few ideas of my own for that landlord of yours. Let's go."

 **Author's Note: Roommates! Roommates! Roommates!** _ **And**_ **he's her boss!** _ **And**_ **it's still June, so there are probably more weddings coming up. Yes, this is a more saccharine story than the last few, but, damn, it's fun to write. ;)**


	6. Full Fathom Five

"Well, _hello_ , Bellatrix."

She scowled as she walked into the record shop. Davey, her landlord and the shop's owner, was standing with a cigarette in his mouth, combing through records at a table. A Beatles album was loudly playing in the shop; Bellatrix recognised "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

"Evening, Davey," Bellatrix said lightly. "I'm just here to collect my belongings, actually; I've found a new place."

"Oh. What a shame. Well, you won't get your deposit back, since you're breaking your lease," Davey said, shoving his smelly brown hair from his skinny face. He puffed on his cigarette and jerked his chin toward Voldemort. "Moving back in with Daddy?"

 _Daddy?_ Bellatrix glared at Davey and pursed her lips. She wasn't going to dignify that with a response. She rolled her eyes and started to walk past Davey, but when she did, his hand squeezed at her bum, and he muttered past his cigarette,

"Going to miss this bread-dough bum, love. _Agh!_ "

Davey crumpled to the ground, and Bellatrix whirled around to see Voldemort aiming his wand at the Muggle. Davey appeared to have been strangled, and though he was unconscious on the ground, he was still breathing. His cigarette lay smouldering beside him. Voldemort's dark eyes shimmered with rage, and his wand shook a little in his hand. He jerked his wand, and suddenly the records in the store started to shatter. One by one, inside their sleeves and boxes, Bellatrix heard them bursting into shards. Voldemort angrily began toppling boxes full of records, sending them careening to the ground. The broken bits of the records spilled out all over the place.

" _Confringo!_ " Voldemort exclaimed, and his Blasting Curse shot straight at Davey's prized, expensive hi-fi stereo and speaker system. The Beatles went silent as the system burst into flames that smoked and flickered. Voldemort turned his dark eyes to Bellatrix and said sharply,

"Let's go pack your things. We'll Disapparate from up there."

Bellatrix was rather numb as she headed for the stairs. When she glanced back, she saw Voldemort aim his wand at Davey again, and the Muggle's skin erupted at once with the painful boils and hives of a Stinging Hex. Voldemort aimed his wand at the windows leading out to the street, and he mumbled,

" _Finestra._ "

The windows exploded into shards as fine as dust. Bellatrix smirked. This place was a complete hovel; Davey must have minimal insurance, if any. Voldemort had just completely destroyed Davey's record shop, and that would chew Davey up inside once he woke up with a swollen face covered in boils. Bellatrix hurried up the rickety wooden steps, and she could hear the Muggle woman upstairs listening to her television loudly. She opened her door with a quick spell; she couldn't be bothered with a key right now.

Inside the tiny flat, she hurried to open her Expanded leather suitcase, into which she began shoving her cosmetics from the bathroom - her shampoo and conditioner, her soap, her makeup bag, her towels and her terry cloth robe. She pulled back the little curtain hiding the clothes she'd brought from her parents' house, and she hauled them all into the Expanded suitcase. She plucked spare garments from where she found them, feeling a little embarrassed that Voldemort was seeing her private belongings. But he was busy staring out the window at the street below, and he murmured,

"That man is buying drugs from that other man. This is a bad neighbourhood."

"Yes, well… I'm leaving it," Bellatrix smiled. She felt self-conscious, though, as Voldemort eyed her lumpy mattress with its ratty quilt, the second-hand dresser and tiny table with a single chair. He stared into the bathroom, which had just a toilet, a tiny sink, a flat mirror on the tiled wall, and a shower head coming out of the wall with no curtain. He huffed and shook his head, sounding almost angry as he growled,

"You are a member of the House of Black. A Pureblood witch of prestigious background. You should _never_ have been living in a place like this."

Bellatrix's lips fell open, and she shrugged. "As soon as I left school, my father was a drunken mess, and I knew I couldn't stay at home. I had no work. This was fine for a few weeks. Really."

"Well. The blue bedroom will be much better," Voldemort said very firmly. He pursed his lips, seeming very irritated, and Bellatrix's eyes watered all of sudden for a reason she wouldn't have been able to explain. She nodded and asked him,

"Shall we go? Best leave before Davey wakes."

"Yes. Let's get the hell out of here," Voldemort said. He walked over to her suitcase, clasped it shut, and held it, and he extended his hand to her. Bellatrix felt a little overwhelmed then as she took his hand and was sucked into Side-Along Apparition, and when they came to, they were in the sitting room of his house in Cressida Road.

It was very quiet here, Bellatrix thought again. Peaceful. She looked around and then carefully put her shoes by the front door of the house.

"I have to pay you rent," she mused, and Voldemort insisted,

"You already did."

"Oh. Right." Bellatrix sighed, stepping into the more formal parlour. She glanced at the piano and smirked. "Do you play?"

"Very badly," he said. "It came with the house. I started teaching myself when I moved in. I am not exactly a _pianist_ , if that's what you mean."

"Will you play me something, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he shook his head.

"No. I dislike making a fool of myself."

"Well. I can't play at all, so you're better than me," she insisted. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, moving over to the piano and pulling out the bench. He sat and looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he put his fingers to the keys. He had long fingers, Bellatrix thought suddenly. She shivered a little, studying his hands like that. His fingers were long and thin. She liked the look of them.

He played a series of quiet chords, soft and mournful, and then his left hand continued playing gentle, sorrowful chords whilst his right hand played a tinkling moving line. It was a sad little song, a little piece that made Bellatrix think of cold rain. She moved closer to the piano on instinct, needing to be nearer. Voldemort's back was very straight as he played, his hands bending and pressing just so. The little piece ended with another series of sad, gentle chords, and then Voldemort pulled his hands away, shutting the lid of the piano and giving Bellatrix a self-conscious expression.

"And that's about as good as it gets," he clipped. Bellatrix felt a little breathless as she told him honestly,

"I thought it was lovely."

He dragged his thumb over his bottom lip and drummed his other fingers on the piano lid.

"Well. At least with you around, I'll get a compliment here and there instead of my own constant self-criticism when it comes to the piano, hm?"

She smiled at him, unable to think of anything to say back to him. She just swallowed hard and knitted her fingers together, and she finally said,

"Thank you, My Lord. For what you did to Davey. I've been wanting to do that and worse ever since I moved in. I think sometimes witches don't feel like we're allowed to have our vengeance."

"Well, that's silly," Voldemort snapped. "If someone mistreats you, you do twice as badly to them. Remember that."

She nodded. "I will."

"Your shower looked miserable in that dump of a tenement," Voldemort said rather harshly. "If you'd like, the one upstairs is perfectly pleasant. Make yourself at home. You're paying rent, after all."

Bellatrix grinned, making a move for her suitcase.

* * *

Bellatrix couldn't help humming a little as she dragged a wide-toothed comb through her damp curls. She pulled them into a loose braid for sleeping, and she dabbed some night cream beneath her eyes and around her cheeks. She'd pulled on a nightgown - loose-fitting black cotton that hit her knees, and as she scrubbed her teeth, she felt profoundly comfortable. She hadn't had a real, proper bathroom to herself, _ever_. At home, she'd had to share with Narcissa and Andromeda. Even the wealthy Black family townhouse had had one level with three bedrooms and one bathroom just for the girls. At school, she'd shared with the other Slytherin girls. Then there had been her sorry excuse for a flat in Shoreditch. But this was nice, having a real bathroom that no one else was using. Bellatrix latched up her cosmetics case and put it on the shelf beside the sink, plopping her toothbrush in the porcelain cup beside the sink, and she snuffed out the lantern on the wall with her wand.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she could hear the sink running in Voldemort's bathroom. She froze. Was he in there, washing his own face and cleaning his own teeth? She hurried into her blue bedroom, thinking she should shut the door and yank up the blankets on her bed. But that seemed ungrateful, so she waited until she heard the water stop, until she heard his footsteps, and she called carefully,

"My Lord?"

There was a long pause, and then he appeared in the threshold of her bedroom door, wearing dark blue flannel pyjamas. Bellatrix felt a sudden flush. She _wanted_ him. Oh, goodness, did she want him. She hadn't really _wanted_ him until right now, she thought. She'd found him handsome before. She'd thought he was incredibly strong and powerful and charismatic. She'd liked his personality. She'd been glad for his presence. But right this moment, she _wanted_ him. She struggled not to show it, not to show him what she was feeling and thinking. She wrung her hands before her and mumbled,

"I just wanted to thank you again. For…"

She trailed off then, her eyes fluttering a little. She shut them, just standing there, and when she opened them again, Voldemort's chest seemed to be rising and falling rather quickly beneath the shirt of his pyjamas. Bellatrix remembered the way he'd kissed her the night of the wedding. Would he do that again? That seemed like a bad idea, somehow.

"I wanted to thank you, My Lord," she managed, "for agreeing to help with my father, and for offering me employment and housing, and for exacting revenge on Davey. I promise you that I will be a model tenant, and I promise I will work very hard as your assistant."

"I know," he said simply. He licked his bottom lip and opened his mouth, seeming like he was anxious to say something. He closed his mouth and looked away, and he finally just said in a rather frustrated sort of voice, "Goodnight, Bellatrix."

"Goodnight, My Lord," she said, and she watched him shut her door as he walked away.

 **Author's Note: All right. Taking bets on how long they last. Hahaha.**


	7. Come, Kiss!

"Morning." Voldemort paused outside his bedroom door, doing up the buttons of his dress shirt. He probably should have fully dressed before coming out here, he thought now. He already had his tie on, and his trousers were done up, but he didn't have his dark green outer robe on yet. Bellatrix, though, paid it no heed. She shut her bedroom door and smiled politely.

"Good morning, My Lord."

She looked quite pretty, he thought, in a belted and caped black dress that reached her knees. She'd tied her curls halfway back and had on a bit of makeup. Why was he noticing that? Why was he noticing that she had a little silver pendant around her neck? He cleared his throat and asked lightly,

"Sleep well?"

"Like a rock," she nodded, grinning. "Thankfully, I tend to wake with the dawn, so… I was going to head over to Malfoy Manor, if it's all right. Get everything ready for you? Your newspaper and tea and things?"

"Oh. Erm… all right. See you there." Voldemort still had to get his socks and shoes on, so he needed a few moments, and he watched as Bellatrix pattered down the stairs. His stomach was queasy suddenly, and he knew why. He'd dreamed of her the night before in a way that had made him wake drenched in sweat and hard as a rock. It had been excruciating to know that she was sleeping next door after that.

He tried to put the dream from his mind as he sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on black socks and sliding on his dragon hide loafers, but in his mind, he could taste her. He could smell the rain on her. He shut his eyes and growled to himself, hitting the blankets beside him in irritation. Why were her curls so shiny? Why was her waist so tiny? Why was she so short, and why were her eyes so large and dark? It was obnoxious, how pretty she was. Why did she like his mission the way the did? Why did she act at once determined and obedient? Why did she alternate between mischievous smirks and innocent little smiles?

Voldemort flew to his feet and yanked open his wardrobe, snatching his dark green outer robe and wrenching it on, his fingers shaking as they did up the clasps.

At Malfoy Manor, he found her in his office, and he paused when he saw that she'd prepared tea and a scone for him. The tea - two tea bags in a cup of steaming water - sat beside a scone that had been spread with clotted cream. _The Daily Prophet_ and a wax-sealed envelope sat neatly beside the breakfast, and Bellatrix was standing behind her desk.

"Hello, My Lord," she said deferentially, and he knew she was doing her best to earn her keep. He nodded, shutting his door and going to his desk and sitting down. He Vanished the tea bags and sipped. Perfectly bitter. He bit into his scone. Just the right amount of cream. He glanced up to see that Bellatrix was studying him, looking for a reaction. He took another sip of tea and assured her,

"Just right."

She breathed a sigh of relief and opened his monthly ledger, scribbling down a few notes inside. Income from her rent, probably. She didn't miss a beat, he thought. He set down his scone and opened the envelope on his desk.

 _To Lord Voldemort,_ it read, _I should like to apologise for any disrespect I may have shown you at the Greengrass - Macmillan wedding. I realise, looking back, that I was not quite so respectful as I ought to have been. I hope you'll forgive the misstep. Sincerely, Rodolphus Lestrange._

That was an odd letter to receive, Voldemort thought. He frowned. Why was the boy sending him this? Perhaps his brother Rabastan, who desperately wanted in as a Death Eater but was nowhere near trustworthy enough yet, had urged him to write. If Rabastan had heard that Rodolphus had called Voldemort _Tom Riddle_ , Rabastan would have insisted that an apology was in order. Voldemort Vanished the letter, which made Bellatrix give him a look of confusion.

"Did you not want that filed, My Lord?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No. It was nothing," he lied. He picked up the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , and suddenly his stomach sank. "Oh, no."

 _CYGNUS BLACK III ARRESTED IN BARROOM BRAWL_ , it read. Voldemort huffed an angry sigh, wondering how his Imperius Curse had failed as he read the article.

 _Cygnus Black III, a member of the esteemed and long-respected House of Black, was arrested in the White Wyvern in Knockturn Alley last night. He was reportedly being taunted by a mixed group of wizards and goblins, who began mocking Black for his alleged drinking problem. Black, whom authorities say had only consumed two Butterbeers, responded with anger, first using anti-Muggle-born slurs against the wizards and then calling the goblins rude names. The argument devolved into a duel, with the goblins and wizards throwing jinxes at Black, who responded with more serious hexes, as well as a Blasting Curse that caused structural damage to the bar._

 _Black was arrested by Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and taken to the Ministry, where he was charged with Criminal Mischief and released after paying a hefty fine. He will also have to write formal letters of apology to the affected wizards and goblins and make reparations to the owners of the White Wyvern._

Voldemort held his breath for a very long moment, and then he held the newspaper up and beckoned for Bellatrix to come over. She did, a curious look on her face. Her expression fell when she saw her father's booking photo on the cover, along with the headline. She was serious and subdued as she read the article, and then she silently handed the newspaper back. Voldemort Vanished the copy of the _Prophet_ ; they didn't need that rubbish lying about. Bellatrix shrugged.

"Your Imperius Curse was meant to protect my mother and sisters," she said, "not goblins and Mudbloods. And he wasn't drunk. If he misbehaves, he'll have to pay the price. There are consequences for such behaviour; let him face them."

She seemed very brave then, and Voldemort cleared his throat gently as he told her,

"If you'd care to spend the day visiting with -"

"No. Thank you," she said rather severely. "You have Mr Avery coming in two hours. I'll be here to take notes, My Lord."

Then she went back to her desk, sat down, and pulled out a book about vampires.

* * *

 _Some of the more ridiculous creatures confiscated by the Ministry prior to Scamander's writing of the Ban on Experimental Breeding may have appeared innocuous, but their very existence threatened to expose the entire wizarding community. For example, a black cat was discovered with (non-functional) raven wings growing out of its back, living in the back garden of a witch's home in Surrey. In another case, three backyard chickens appeared normal until they ate their grain, upon which occasion they began to loudly moo like cattle._

"People are exceptionally stupid," Voldemort mused aloud, and when he looked up, Bellatrix smirked from her desk.

"Have you got a specific example?" she asked, and he kept reading from his small book about Ministry legislation over the past decade.

" _One wizarding family in Cheshire decided it would be exceptionally amusing to show a horse they'd crossed with a thestral, so that it appeared - as a beautiful bay gelding - only to the Muggles at the horse show who had witnessed death. Therefore, the horse shows they attended triggered mass debates and even panic. Another experimental breeding gone wrong resulted in a robustly carnivorous tortoise who came inside from the garden one night and mangled a family's youngest child, sending him to St Mungo's for three weeks._ See, it's idiots like this that are why we have to have laws limiting all sorts of fun activities. People can't control themselves. Cats with wings that don't even fly? Showing a horse that's invisible to most Muggles? Really. Idiots."

Bellatrix was giggling where she sat, and Voldemort smiled as he shut his book and Banished it back to the shelf. He glanced at the clock and gasped a little. He'd been reading for ages.

"It's half past six!" he exclaimed. "I lost myself in the book."

"Well. I went to the owlery. Slipped out; you didn't even notice," she told him, and she rose and brought over a single envelope. She hesitated and informed him, "That's my mother's writing. I recognise it."

"Oh." Voldemort scowled and opened the envelope, and he read the letter inside out loud.

" _Dear Lord Voldemort: I write to apologise most sincerely on behalf of my husband, who has surely brought great shame upon the wizarding community with his incomprehensibly uncouth behaviour. It is his folly, I believe, to drink to excess, and even when sober, he has an enormous temper. Though he has been much improved of late with the family, I fear his anger with others has made the House of Black and the entire Pureblood community look rather foolish. Since I know you are working diligently to promote and restore the prominence of Pureblood families in wizarding Britain, I wish to apologise with my whole heart for my husband's misstep. I do hope you will not weigh it too heavily against us in future, for we know your future is very bright indeed. Yours sincerely, Druella Rosier Black._ "

Voldemort sighed and pulled out a piece of parchment. He wrote a quick response to Druella, stating that of course he would not judge the family by Cygnus' struggles, and that he had respected Cygnus for many years. He wrote that Bellatrix was doing excellent work as his assistant, and that Druella should be proud of her eldest daughter. Then he sealed the letter up in an envelope, addressed it, and handed both letters to Bellatrix.

"File your mother's letter," he said crisply, "then send mine off to her. I'll get some takeaway for dinner and see you back at the house."

Bellatrix gave him a shy, grateful little smile and nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

* * *

"I must admit that I have never eaten food like this," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort tried not to laugh at her struggle with chopsticks. He held his own expertly, for he'd been getting Chinese takeaway for several years now. He'd tried not to order anything too exotic; he'd just gotten them chicken with green pepper, onion, pineapple, and a 'sweet and sour' sauce over steamed white rice. But Bellatrix seemed utterly perplexed by the strange Muggle food. She stabbed at her chicken with the chopstick, and Voldemort snorted a little. She scowled up at him rather indignantly, her cheekbones going pink, and he said in a more patient voice,

"Cradle one of them between your thumb and forefinger. Then hold the other one like a quill and only move that one."

Bellatrix tried to do as he said, but when she managed to pick up a piece of chicken, she dropped it halfway to her mouth.

"You could use a fork," he pointed out, but she determinedly snarled,

"I'm going to use these."

It was rather adorable, for some reason, he thought - the way she was so stubborn. He was just as stubborn himself, he knew. Voldemort set down his own chopsticks and rose, walking to where she sat on the other side of the dining room table. He crouched down, genuflecting onto one knee and giving her a playful look as he asked,

"May I?"

"Please." She handed him her chopsticks, which he wandlessly Scoured since she'd managed to get them covered in sweet and sour sauce. He carefully took her right hand in his, which may have been a mistake, because he realised at once that she had very soft and pleasant-feeling skin. He quickly cleared his throat and adjusted her hand, and then he placed one chopstick in the crook between her thumb and forefinger. He tightened up her hand there and murmured,

"Don't move that one."

"All right." She sounded a little weak, and when he turned his face to look at her, her cheeks had gone scarlet. Suddenly Voldemort froze, realising something. She _wanted_ him. He blinked. He wanted her, of course, but it had not yet been terribly obvious whether or not that was reciprocated.

It seemed obvious right now.

She was breathing through her parted lips, her cheeks looking very warm, her eyes blinking frequently. Voldemort tried to swallow past the thick knot in his throat, and he picked up her other chopstick. He carefully arranged her fingers around it, as though she were holding a quill, and he said softly,

"You move this one. So… like this."

He guided her hand to a piece of pineapple, and he showed her how to keep the back stick still whilst moving the front one, bracing the sticks against the pineapple. He let go, watching her bring it between her lips. Suddenly a little noise escaped him, an odd sort of whimper, and he shook his head, thinking he should stand up and go back to his seat. But Bellatrix grinned, her cheeks pinker than ever, and she said happily,

"I did it!"

"You did it," he whispered, nodding.

"Shall I try again?" she asked, and he just kept nodding. Bellatrix aimed for another piece of pineapple, and though it took a few slippery failures before she finally succeeded, she eventually picked it up. She hesitated, and then seemed to gather her courage before she said, "This one's for you."

"What?" Voldemort looked at her, and then realised she meant to give him the pineapple. He laughed a little and leaned forward, helping her aim, and he plucked the pineapple off the chopsticks with his teeth. He chewed it, tart and sweet and acutely delicious, and he teased her, "Tastes even better when it's fed directly to you, I think."

She smiled and set her chopsticks down, sipping at her water, and she seemed very nervous then. Voldemort clenched his fingers into a fist at his side, shutting his eyes for a moment, and he finally whispered,

"Bellatrix."

"Yes?"

When he opened his eyes, she was right there. She was breathing quickly now, her lips wet from the water, shining and full, and he needed to kiss them.

So he did.

He took her face in his hands and leaned in, hesitating for just a second until she moaned a little and did him in. He brushed his lips against hers, tasting sweet and sour, the tang of the pineapple. Her breath was rickety blending with his, quick and shallow with want. What did she want from him? He brushed his thumbs under her wide brown eyes and kissed her a little more deeply, daring to drag his tongue along her lip.

She liked that. She moaned again, more viscerally this time, and suddenly Voldemort was hard in his trousers. He felt one of his hands go to the small of her back, pulling her toward him from where she sat in her chair. He was still crouched beside her, down on one knee, but he didn't care. He just leaned closer and tipped his face a little, deepening things more than ever, and he let his fingers stroke her curls and her cheek. He was shocked then, to feel _her_ tongue against his lips, pressing them open. _Bold little thing_ , he thought. He liked that. He liked that she wanted him. He let her in.

Soon enough her tongue and his were tangled, twisting together, stroking roofs of mouths and lips, and the kiss seemed to go on and on, leaving dinner forgotten. But eventually, Voldemort's knee was aching terribly, and he was so breathless he was dizzy, so he finally started to pull away a little. Bellatrix looked frightened when he did, so he shook his head and assured her,

"Not your fault."

"All right." She nodded, and he just stood slowly, his knee cracking as he did, and he moved away quickly to conceal the fact that he had a rather insistent erection blazing for her. His breath shook like mad as he sat back down.

Somehow - _somehow_ \- they managed to talk about grindylows and hinkypunks during the rest of dinner. _Somehow_ he managed to retreat to his bedroom and shut the door, to wash up and go to bed without saying much more to her. But he couldn't keep from touching himself that night, even - perhaps especially - knowing that she was right next door. She had tasted far too good. She had been far too beautiful. And she had _wanted_ him.

Work the next day, Voldemort decided, would be interesting.

 **Author's Note: Guyyyyyyyyyyyyyyys. Ya can't keep your hands off each other, can you? Well, okay. Those who said they'd go straight for a kiss were right. But will they manage to stay out of the sheets for any length of time? We'll have to see. Haha.**


	8. The Poor Monster's in Drink

Bellatrix could hear Voldemort's piano playing from where she stood in her bathroom getting ready. She applied thick black eyeliner in dramatic wings, icy pink lipstick, and styled her hair into a silky, straightened ponytail with loads of Sleekeazy's. She dressed in a skin tight black dress with a wispy chiffon cape and see-through chiffon sleeves, and she stepped into spiky black heels. Feeling abjectly sexy, Bellatrix packed her wand and her lipstick, along with a small sack of coins, into her Expanded black handbag and headed down the stairs, being extra careful in her high heels. She waited in the foyer for Voldemort to finish the waltz he was playing, and when he turned around, his mouth dropped open.

"Oh," he said simply. She smiled a little. They hadn't kissed since that night with the Chinese food, four days earlier, but things since then had consisted of many awkward little glances and smiles. She'd tried to focus on work, on being a good tenant - cleaning up after both of them constantly - but she couldn't deny now that he looked very handsome where he sat at the piano.

"I'm headed to Diagon Alley," Bellatrix said simply. "It's Phyllis Bulstrode's seventeenth birthday. She was a year behind me in school. Acantha Greengrass - sorry; it's Macmillan now - will be there, along with Mariana Selwyn and Rosie Travers. Please don't judge me if I show up completely drunk."

"No judgment," Voldemort said from the piano bench, but he frowned and warned her, "Do be careful Apparating back; it's quite difficult not to Splinch if you're too intoxicated."

"Oh, I won't Apparate drunk," Bellatrix promised. "It's only a forty-five minute walk or so; I'll just -"

" _Walk?_ In those shoes? In that dress? In the middle of the night?" Voldemort sounded horrified. He stood from the piano bench and shook his head. "You'd be better off in a Muggle cab."

"Well, hopefully I can grab the Knight Bus or something," Bellatrix said dismissively. "Anyway. I'll be back later. See you."

"Wait!" Voldemort stormed toward the door, looking angry. He shook his head and insisted, "As your… landlord, and your... employer, I can not very well let you go out drinking dressed like _that_ with no good plan to get home safely. It isn't as though I don't think you can handle yourself; I do not trust men. So… why don't you give me a time, and I'll meet you and bring you back by Side-Along?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open in surprise. She shook her head. "My Lord, I couldn't possibly…"

"Please." He blinked and looked away, putting his hands on his hips. Bellatrix finally nodded, her heart fluttering a little, and she mumbled,

"Erm… shall we say… one? No. Erm. Eleven. Eleven o'clock?"

He smirked. "Midnight?"

"That'll do," she said gratefully. "Outside the Leaky Cauldron? We're just going casual, you know?"

"Yes; you're dressed exceptionally casually," Voldemort said sarcastically, flicking his eyes up and down. He sighed. "Right. Midnight, outside the Leaky Cauldron. I'll be there."

"Thank you," she said, and then she scoffed. "Seems like you're always saving my hide. I'm sorry."

"Seems like you're always apologising," he noted, tipping his head. "Have fun."

* * *

"And then I was just… oh, I don't remember where I was going with this," Rosie Travers giggled. Mariana Selwyn held up Rosie's empty glass of firewhisky and soda water and demanded,

"How many of these have you… have you _had_ , Rosie?"  
"I dunno!" Rosie laughed, and then Acantha drawled,

"Shhhh… everybody… listen."

"Oooh. Listen!" Bellatrix shook at Phyllis Bulstrode's shoulder, and Phyllis sat up from where she'd slumped. She was bleary, half-conscious, and looked like she'd be sick any moment. Acantha Macmillan swigged her cocktail and leaned forward.

"So. You all know… Callum and I were _really_ honest… we only kissed before we were married."

"Prudes!" shouted Rosie, and Mariana laughed, but Acantha continued,

"Anyway… it turns out that sex is _so good_. No. Girls. You don't understand. It's so good."

"I understand," Rosie insisted, and Mariana laughed,

"Whore."

"Is it really good?" Bellatrix demanded. "Does it hurt?"

"Only once!" Rosie cried, too loudly, and Acantha confirmed,

"It's _so good_ after the first time, Bella. Oh, Merlin's beard. So good."

"Except penises look like some kind of sea creature," Rosie joked, and Mariana Selwyn snorted as she drank her own soda and firewhisky. Poor little Phyllis said in a blur,

"I don't ever… _hicc!_ want to see a penis."

"Well, good luck to you!" Acantha said. "You're to marry Rabastan Lestrange next year. You'll have to see his. It's like a cucumber with a mushroom on the end."

"It's green?" Phyllis asked, and Rosie, Mariana, Acantha, and Bellatrix broke into mad fits of giggles. Then, suddenly, Acantha went very serious, and she hissed,

"Oh, Merlin's beard. What is Lord Voldemort doing walking toward us?"

"What? Oh!" Rosie squealed, seemingly in alarm, and Bellatrix whirled in her chair so hard that she almost fell. She staggered to her feet, and as he approached, Voldemort reached out to catch her forearms. He gave her a warning look, but she exclaimed much too loudly,

"I thought we said we'd meet outside!"

"Yes," he murmured quietly, "at midnight. It's a quarter to one. I got a bit worried."

"Oh! Oh, no! I made you wait forty-five minutes! I'm so sorry! Oh, no!" Bellatrix touched at her forehead, and Voldemort raised his eyebrows as he said gently,

"Seems like perhaps you ought to call it a night, anyway. Why don't you wish Phyllis a happy birthday? Hm? I'll meet you out front in a moment."

"Yes. Thank you. _Thank you_ ," Bellatrix squeezed at the front of his robes, and he just gave her a very patient nod as he released her arms, guiding her back to the table and then nodding at the other girls before walking away. Bellatrix stayed standing and shrugged as she put some coins on the table.

"That's my cue," she said. "My ride home, if you will."

"Bellatrix," said Rosie carefully, "are you… _dating_ him?"

"What?" Bellatrix yelped. "No! Of course not! Why on Earth would you say that? No."

She felt her cheeks go hot, though, and Rosie gave Mariana a meaningful look. Mariana asked in a slurred voice,

"Why is Tom Riddle - sorry, _Lord Voldemort -_ picking you up after drinks in the middle of the night?"

"Because I live with him," Bellatrix said, as though it were obvious. When the girls looked more shocked than ever, she clarified, "I'm his administrative assistant; that's my job. And I was living in this awful fucking tenement over a Muggle record shop. It was… oh, it was… bad. Anyway. He has a fine house, and he offered me a room to let. So, tonight, I was getting ready to come out, and he was worried about me Splinching drunk or walking alone, so he offered to come take me back by Side-Along. Only, I was meant to meet him outside at midnight."

The girls all eyed one another, and suddenly Bellatrix felt very judged. She slammed a few extra Sickles on the table and exclaimed shrilly,

"I am not dating him! For goodness' sake. How silly you all are. Good gravy. Night, all. Happy birthday, Phyllis."

Phyllis appeared to have passed out on the table, so Bellatrix headed for the front door of the Leaky Cauldron. She didn't realise until then just how drunk she was; she stumbled so badly that she bent down and took her high heels off, holding them by the straps and walking barefoot with uneven steps. She pushed the door open and walked out into the summer night, and when Voldemort held his arm out in silence, she took it, and she was yanked into the darkness of Apparition.

When they landed, she felt sick, and she heard Voldemort murmur an anti-nausea charm on her. She mumbled her thanks, and she dropped her shoes by the front door. Suddenly she found herself pushing him up against the front door of the house, staring up at him. All that talk with the girls about penises and sex had made her feel hot-blooded for him, and her right hand started snaking beneath his robes.

"Bellatrix." He shook his head roughly and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, but she could feel him firming up beneath her hand. He hissed, as if in pain, and tipped his head back against the door.

"Thank you for picking me up and bringing me back," Bellatrix drawled. "I want to repay you. We make bargains, you and I."

"Not this sort of bargain," he whispered. "Please go to bed."

"My Lord." Bellatrix was so dizzy she could barely stand. Her last tumbler of whisky was hitting her hard now. She closed her hand around the firmness that was forming beneath her touch. He liked this. He liked when she touched him. She caressed him as best as she could, but he pulled her wrist away and brought it up to his lips. He kissed the inside of Bellatrix's wrist, making her shiver, and he shook his head.

"No," he told her, quite firmly. "Not like this. Not when you're drunk. You don't know what you want right now."

"Oh, yes, I do," Bellatrix insisted in a low voice. "I want _you_."

He squeezed at her wrist a little, shaking his head again, and he told her, "Say that again tomorrow night when you've had nothing to drink, and maybe I'll listen."

Bellatrix huffed. "All right."

"Let's get you up to bed," he suggested. "I'm your landlord; it's a liability if you slip on my stairs."

She laughed at that, probably for much longer than she normally would, and she let him help her stagger up the stairs. He waited in the corridor as she scrubbed off her makeup; too drunk to Scour with her wand. She started to head into the blue bedroom, and she paused, leaning against the threshold.

"Thank you again, My Lord," she said. He nodded, and she murmured, "Goodnight, My Lord. Master."

There was a fizzling sort of silence for a moment, and then he whispered,

"What did you say?"

"Sorry; it just felt right." Bellatrix was about to topple over, so she stood up and started to head into her room. She felt Voldemort gently take hold of her wrist, and when she turned, she was so unstable that he touched at the small of her back to steady her. He held her face in his other hand, and he bent to touch his lips to her forehead for a long moment. Bellatrix just breathed in and out, touching at his chest, and then she felt him whisper against her skin,

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she mumbled back, and she let him close the door as she made her way to the plush blue bed.

 **Author's Note: Oh, Bella, you hot mess. But how cute is possessive-protective Voldemort there to take care of her and reject her drunken advances? Haha.**


	9. Thy Food Shall Be

"Good morning," Voldemort said rather crisply, walking into the dining room to find Bellatrix already there. It was Sunday, so neither of them was going to Malfoy Manor today. She looked up from her bowl of steel-cut oats and cream, and she looked utterly horrified. She just blinked, stared into her bowl, and mumbled,

"Morning."

She'd dressed in a floor-length velvet skirt and a very modestly cut blouse, Voldemort noticed. That had probably been on purpose. Her hair hung loose around her face, upon which she'd appeared not to have put any makeup. She looked utterly hungover, so Voldemort sighed and walked over to his potions cabinet in his kitchen. He opened the large apothecary drawers until he found the small vial of Hangaway Serum. He carried it back into the dining room, set it beside Bellatrix, and said tightly,

"Two drops in your tea. I'm sure that headache's splitting."

"Oh. Thank you, My Lord." She used the vial to shake two drops of the serum into her tea, and then she put the stopper back in and handed it back. Voldemort Banished it back to his cabinet and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a scone from his bread basket and opening his enchanted, chilled contained of clotted cream. He slathered cream onto the scone, Scoured the knife and put it away, and brewed himself up a quick cup of tea. He opened another drawer and pulled out a parchment and a self-inking quill, and he sent it all to the dining room table with a few flicks of his wand.

When he sat, he wordlessly nibbled his scone and sipped his tea, and then he picked up the quill and wrote down,

 _Coarse ground mustard, cinnamon, paprika, chicken thighs, two heads of garlic, five pounds potatoes, one bunch asparagus, one jug cooking oil, sea salt, coarse black pepper, cheddar cheese, butter, milk, two loaves crusty bread._

"I have made a list," he said, looking up to see Bellatrix focusing very intently on eating her oats. "A grocery list. You'll find all of this at The Pumpkin and the Pepper Pot in Diagon Alley. I trust you don't mind a quick run to the grocer's… as my assistant? I know it's Sunday, but I like to cook now and then."

"Of course I don't mind, My Lord," Bellatrix said meekly from where she sat. She aimed her wand at her bowl, Vanished the remaining oats, Scoured the bowl and her teacup, and carefully carried the dishes back into the kitchen. Whilst she was gone, Voldemort pulled out his drawstring bag of coins from his pocket and counted out six Galleons, which he reckoned should be more than enough for the food. It was probably twice was the food would cost, but he didn't want Bellatrix to be caught short. He stacked the coins on the parchment before him and waited, and when Bellatrix came back out, she eyed his empty teacup and plate full of crumbs and asked,

"May I clear those for you?"

"You're not my maid," he said, a little bite in his voice. She shrank back a bit, and Voldemort rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. He set the teacup on the plate and handed it to her, and she nodded as she carried them into the kitchen.

Of course they should discuss the night before, he thought. Of course they should discuss the fact that she'd drunkenly groped his erection through his trousers. Of course they should talk about that, but of course they would not. They had not discussed either of the two kisses he'd given her, and they would not discuss her drunken behaviour, either.

Bellatrix came back out from the kitchen and looked over the list on the parchment. She took three Galleons and said confidently,

"This'll be more than enough, My Lord."

"You're right, I'm sure," he said, and he tucked the other three Galleons away. He watched her study the list, and then a little smile spread across her face, and she asked,

"When are you making chicken and potatoes?"

"Oh. Tonight, if you're in. If you'd… you don't have to eat it," he said, but Bellatrix shrugged.

"I like chicken. And potatoes."

"Good." Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table, and for a moment there was a very heavy, awkward silence. Bellatrix finally folded up the parchment and tucked it, along with the three Galleons, into the small pouch tied around her belt. She holstered her wand and asked,

"Is there anything else I can do for you? Sir?"

His chest hurt a little at that, for some strange reason. She had been pressed against him the night before, telling him that she wanted him. But now her eyes were cold, frightened, and she was speaking so formally. He just shook his head, and she nodded as she walked away, Disapparating before she reached the front door.

* * *

It began to pour around half past six in the evening. Voldemort stood in the kitchen, dipping chicken thighs into a bowl of milk and then coating them with a mixture of bread crumbs and spices before placing them in a glass baking pan. He glanced out the kitchen window to see that the rain was absolutely thrashing the panes. If it had been drizzling, he'd have opened the windows, for he adored the warm smell of summer rain, but this wasn't just rain. It was a storm.

That assessment was confirmed when a mighty crash of thunder sounded. From the sitting room, the voice on the Wizarding Wireless scratched out,

" _For those listening in the London area, be extra careful with the weather. There is a Broomstick Advisory issued by the Ministry, as severe thunderstorms are predicted to continue until the early hours of the morning. And now, the latest from jazz groups The MerNotes and Bobby Patina and his Warlock Band._ "

Soothing jazz music began to play, and Voldemort aimed his wand at the glass baking pan of chicken thighs and the pan of seasoned potato wedges he'd covered with grated cheese, then the plate of asparagus he'd drizzled with lemon juice, salt, and pepper.

" _Coquam_ ," he incanted. " _Frigo._ "

He watched as the potatoes and chicken began to roast, as the asparagus began to sauté. He aimed his wand at his cupboards, concentrating hard, and with a deliberate swish, he said,

" _Mensam Quia Duorum Hominum._ "

He watched then as the table set itself. Two napkins, two plates, two forks, two knives, two spoons, two wine glasses, and two water glasses made their way to opposite ends of the table. Voldemort smirked, rather proud of his magic. He selected a good bottle of Pinot Noir and then used an _Aguamenti_ and a Chilling Charm to fill a pitcher with cold water. He carried the drinks to the table and saw Bellatrix walking into the dining room. He smiled a little at her and sent her chair out with wandless magic, and with a quick flick of his wand, he uncorked the bottle of wine, then poured her a little as she sat.

"My Lord," she said in awe, "I had no idea you were a chef. It smells marvelous in here."

"Well. Don't judge anything until you taste," he said. There was a crash of thunder then, and he looked out the window in the sitting room. "Lovely weather."

Bellatrix smiled weakly, looking a little embarrassed as she put her napkin in her lap. Voldemort Summoned the dishes of chicken and potato and asparagus into the dining room, allowing Bellatrix to serve herself first. Once he dug in, he realised he'd created something rather tasty. He looked up to see Bellatrix chewing away happily. She took a sip of wine and affirmed,

"Delicious."

"Oh, well, it's obviously because I had quality ingredients," he joked. "If I'd had a lesser grocery shopper, everything might have gone to hell, you know."

She laughed a little then, and after a while of eating in quiet, she reminded him,

"Early morning tomorrow, My Lord. Yaxley wanted to discuss my father's arrest with you before he goes into the Ministry."

"Ah, yes. Erm… up to you if you want to sit in on that meeting or not," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix shrugged.

"Well. I don't mind, but I worry my presence might make Yaxley uncomfortable," she said. "I was thinking perhaps I could just get a summary from you afterward and record it in the journal?"

"Yes, if you think that's best," Voldemort said lightly, "though I don't much care if Yaxley is uncomfortable. I think you should be there. I'm sure you'd like to hear what Yaxley has to say. And, anyway, I should like more comprehensive real-time notes. So… sit in on the meeting, if you please."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix's eyes went wide, and she set down her knife and fork. She shook her head and gulped visibly. "I'm so sorry; that just…"

"Slipped out?" Voldemort whispered. It had slipped out the night before, too, when she'd been completely drunk. Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she winced when a clap of thunder shook the house a little. Voldemort took another bite of chicken, then a bite of potato and a bite of asparagus. He finally said to Bellatrix, "It isn't as though that word bothers me. Very much the opposite. You know what I aim to be, Bellatrix. You're only jarred using that term because you're the only person who actually acknowledges me for what I seek to become."

Bellatrix's lips parted a little, and she sipped deeply from her wine. She set the glass down and said,

"I made a fool of myself last night, and I apologise."

"No. You were drunk, and you were being a little silly. That's all," Voldemort said, trying to convince himself as much as her. Her face went more red than ever, and somehow the rain fell even harder outside. Bellatrix appeared to chew her lip hard for a moment, and then she said,

"I touched you in a way you didn't want me to do. That was wrong."

"I didn't say that I did not want it," Voldemort snapped quietly. He stared at his mostly empty plate of food, unable to raise his eyes to her. "I said that it was wrong to let you do that when you were drunk, and I stand by that."

There was silence then, except for the thudding of the rain and the rumbling of thunder, and finally Bellatrix murmured,

"Dinner was wonderful, My Lord. Please, allow me to clean up."

"All right." He rose from his chair and made his way across the house, sitting at the piano and playing until his knuckles were sore.

* * *

He couldn't stand it anymore.

She was right next door, and there was no chance she was sleeping. She'd Scoured herself with spells, for she'd said she was afraid of taking a shower in the thunderstorm that had worsened as the night went one. They'd each scrubbed their teeth and washed their faces and had put on pyjamas and bid each other an awkward goodnight.

But the rain was incessant, and the thunder and lightning were constant. This, surely, was more disruptive to sleep than even the worst Muggle party or the most obnoxious record shop. There was no chance she was asleep in the blue bedroom. She was away, just a few feet away on the other side of the wall. She was so close that if Voldemort could have reached through the plaster, he could have touched her.

And knowing that was eating him alive. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her that she was beautiful and intelligent, that she was the only one who actually treated him the way he wanted to be treated. He wanted to hold her close like he'd done the night before. He wanted to kiss her like he'd done a few days earlier, dragging his tongue around her mouth. He wanted to do other things, too. He wanted to know what her small breast felt like in his hand. He wanted to put his fingers between her legs. He wanted to make her moan. He wanted to make her…

He startled then at the sound of gentle knocking on his bedroom door. He sat up, gulping hard, and he used wandless magic to pull the door open. Bellatrix came padding in, looking mildly terrified. She was like a ghost, like an otherworldly creature in her knee-length, loose-fitting black nightgown. So much of her milky skin was revealed, and even in the darkness, Voldemort could see the shape of her. He stared, finally meeting her eyes as she approached the bed where he was now sitting upright.

"My Lord," she said very cautiously, "last night, I was very stupid. I know I was. But I told you that I wanted you, and you told me to tell you that when I was sober. So… here I am. Sober. And I'm here to inform you… that I do want you."

Voldemort reached up and took her hand in his, squeezing a little when the lightning and thunder outside filled the room with a flash and a rumble. He swallowed hard, deciding he was already in far too deep for her, and he pulled her toward him, onto his bed.

 **Author's Note: Welp. That didn't take long. Now, who's up for Bellatrix losing her virginity in the middle of a thunderstorm? (*whispers* I am… that's why I'm gonna write it…) Thank you as always for reading and reviewing.**


	10. The Dreadful Thunder-Claps

His kisses felt like their own kind of magic. As Bellatrix lay on the bed beside him, cradled up against him beneath his blanket, she felt a buzz between them. The lightning flashed and the thunder cracked, but all Bellatrix could feel was _him_.

He tasted like spearmint. His hands were warm - one on her back, and the other on her cheek. He was groaning a little, his voice soft and low as his lips pulled at hers. Bellatrix wasn't sure what to do with her hands, but she finally decided that she wanted his pyjama shirt off. She started to unbutton it, and when she did, his breath hitched a little against her mouth.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"No?" he asked, and he rolled onto his back. He dug his fists into his eyes and said quietly, "Of course you don't. You're only eighteen. You're only _eighteen._ Blazes."

"Well, what does that matter?" Bellatrix asked rather indignantly, and he scoffed,

"I'm forty-three."

"So?" She pushed herself up onto an elbow, and he gave her a playful little look as he reached up to tuck her curls behind her ear. More lightning flashed outside, and he told her,

"So, I'm either very lucky, or you've got very poor taste in men, or perhaps both."

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows and decided to keep unbuttoning his pyjama shirt, and she said quite haughtily, "I think my taste is just fine, thank you."

He laughed a little, and then his eyes seemed a bit nervous. Bellatrix realised why when she opened his flannel shirt and pushed it away from his chest, revealing a rather shocking scar that ran in a a huge, smooth rivulet from one shoulder down to his opposite hip. She tried not to stare, but she couldn't help herself. He looked like someone had sliced him right open.

"It was a Manticore in Albania," he informed her. "A very angry Manticore; it was guarding something I wanted, and it was not pleased when I gained access."

Bellatrix was awed then, amazed that he'd been in a situation where he'd been fighting off a Manticore. She blinked a few times and met his eyes, smiling a little, and he cocked up an eyebrow as he asked,

"What, you aren't horrified that I was stealing something from an Albanian Dark witch and her pet dangerous beasts?"

"I'm intrigued," Bellatrix said honestly, "and impressed."

"Hmm." Voldemort seemed to like that. He shifted a little where he lay, and he informed her, "This scar is the best the Healers could do, even with their mad Gypsy magic. If I hadn't had my… well, suffice it to say that I am very lucky to alive. I'll take the scar."

"I think it gives you character," Bellatrix told him, and he snorted a laugh. Thunder boomed outside, and Bellatrix shivered as the windows shook. Voldemort shucked his shirt then, tossing it aside, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide as she studied the broad build of his shoulders and chest. He wasn't tightly toned, but he was substantial, and her breath quickened. She felt herself go a bit wet between her legs, and her eyes felt heavy all of a sudden.

"Bellatrix," he said quietly, jerking her back to attention. She found his eyes, and he dragged his fingertips up her arm as he asked, "Will you take the nightgown off?"

"Mmm-hmm." She peeled the loose garment off before she could stop herself, tossing it quickly off the bed and shaking a little as she knelt above Voldemort. She tried not to cover herself up, though she was immediately very self-conscious. His mouth fell open, though, and his hand reached up to gently caress her right breast. Bellatrix's head fell back a bit on instinct, and she let out a little noise as he squeezed just enough. His thumb dragged over the nipple that had gone very hard, and that felt so good that Bellatrix moaned. She arched her back a bit, pushing her breast against his hand, and he said softly,

"Come down here."

She obeyed, joining him back under the blankets where it was warm. The rain lashed the window harder than ever, but the sound was somehow a fine backdrop as Bellatrix stared into Voldemort's dark eyes. He looked hungry as he used his hand to massage her other breast, as he studied her face.

"You are very beautiful," he informed her. "I thought so the moment you walked into my office asking for help. You're pretty. So pretty."

"Oh." Her eyes welled at that, to hear _him_ talk about her like that, and suddenly she needed to kiss him again. She needed more than that. She rolled a little, and suddenly she was straddling him beneath the blankets, lying snugly atop him, kissing him hard.

"Mmph…" He held her backside through her soft knickers, squeezing there, and he rolled her hips down onto his. She felt the length of his erection beneath her, and she whimpered into his mouth, soaking wet now. She wanted him so badly that she was trembling from head to foot, and she finally collapsed down onto him, burying her face into the crook of his neck and whispering,

"I've never… I don't know how."

"I'll show you," he promised, and Bellatrix squeezed a tear from one eye as she remembered how he'd done the same thing the night of the wedding. She was a terrible dancer, she'd said apologetically. _I'll lead you_ , he'd promised. She planted a few kisses on his neck, grinding her hips down against his. He seemed to like when she licked and sucked a little at his neck, for he tipped his head back and buried his hands into her curls.

It felt so good to move atop him, to rub herself against him. Everything was going warm. Everything was tightening up. This was starting to feel like when Bellatrix touched herself and she neared the edge, the peak, the little burst at the end. She gasped against Voldemort's neck, and she heard him murmur quietly,

"Don't stop."

She wouldn't have been able to even if she'd wanted. She ground harder and harder, faster and faster until she had to move her mouth to his and kiss him through it. He untangled his fingers from her hair and held her cheeks as she came, as everything clenched and cinched and burst within her. She cried out a little, feeling shaky and helpless above him. After a long moment, he rolled with her, moving them until she was on her back, and he said cautiously,

"You'll forgive me if I don't presume any existing contraception on your end."

"What? Oh. Erm… no. I wasn't… no." Bellatrix was dizzy. Thirsty. She still wanted him so, so badly. She slithered out of her knickers, and suddenly there was the tip of a wand aimed at her lower abdomen.

" _Nongravidare_ ," incanted Voldemort, and Bellatrix felt a warmth spread oddly through her belly. She just nodded up at him, and he was red-cheeked as he set his wand on the table beside the bed. He knelt up before her, and she watched him yank down his pyjama trousers and kick them away.

Then, there it was. His… cock. It wasn't ugly, like the girls had insisted, Bellatrix thought. She was drawn to it like a moth to flame, reaching out to wrap her fingers around the hard length. Voldemort grunted a little when she did, and he hissed when she dragged her thumb up and over the dewy tip.

"Oh… _oh._ " He pulled her hand away and shook his head, telling her lightly, "Not if you want it to last. Sorry."

Bellatrix was confused by that, and then she realised what he meant. It felt too good, having her touch him. He'd finish too soon. She smiled at that thought, at the idea that he liked to be touched by her. She lay on her back and stared up him with hungry eyes, and she asked,

"Will you do it to me now, My Lord?"

"Call me what you did before," he whispered, and she nodded, reaching up for his cock again. She stared right him, waiting until he'd met her gaze for a few seconds, and as she drew circles on him with her thumb, she asked,

"Will you put this inside me, Master?"

"Oh. Oh… _oh,_ bloody hell." He shut his eyes and let out a very shaky breath, and he bent over a little, tearing her hand off of him. He seemed to be calming himself down for a moment, collecting himself, and finally he let out a little whimpering sound and shook his head. "This is _not_ going to last, and for that I do apologise, but… well… anyway. Mmph."

He carefully parted Bellatrix's knees, and when he moved to hover above her, she thought she'd come again just from the sight of him. His scar cut roughly across his chest, and suddenly she was imagining him in a fight with a Manticore. She blinked quickly as he aimed himself at her entrance, and she remembered what the girls said, that the first time was awful and that it was fun after that. This didn't feel so awful.

When he pushed in, it did pinch and burn a little, but it was nothing she couldn't bear. She felt very full, very stretched, and she liked it so much that she desperately reached for Voldemort's arms to brace herself. She brought her knees up closer to her chest, and as he began to slowly pump his hips, he groaned quite loudly.

"Bellatrix!" He sounded desperate, like he was trying to stave off the inevitable, and he shook his head wildly. His face contorted like he was in pain, and he jerked his hips so fervently that Bellatrix yelped in discomfort. She winced at how deeply he thrust, and then, very abruptly, his hips stopped moving and he hissed,

" _Shit_. Fucking… sorry."

"What? Have I done something wrong?" Bellatrix breathlessly stared up at him, but he just shook his head again, and then she felt hot liquid seeping out between the two of them, and she realised he'd already finished. Was sex as quick as that, she wondered? She was a little confused as he huffed and slid out of her, lying on his back beside her and sucking hard on his bottom lip as he said,

"I… it's been twenty years. So. And, also, I am rather embarrassingly attracted to you."

Bellatrix reached between her legs and felt sticky liquid there. She brought her fingers up and studied them, and she thought that this must be his come. She wiped her fingers on the sheets and confessed,

"I don't know how long it's meant to last. I thought it was nice."

He laughed then, somewhat bitterly, and he pulled her down until she snuggled against him.

"It's meant to last a lot longer than that," he said, a bit sadly. "I ruined your first time. Sorry."

"Ruined?" She stared up at him as a frightening crack of thunder ripped through the air. She startled at the sound and then insisted again, "I liked it."

He smirked and promised her, "You'd like it a lot more if it were done properly. In any case, you should get some rest as soon as this storm dies down. Early morning with Yaxley and all."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Bellatrix hauled herself out of the bed, deciding to just hold her knickers since she'd have to go clean up in the bathroom. She was oozing his seed between her legs, and she felt rather awkward as she pulled on her nightgown. Voldemort sat up in his bed and offered,

"You don't have to go. You… you could stay. If you wanted."

Bellatrix stared at him, feeling far more emotional all of a sudden than she'd expected to feel. She studied his eyes, the way he dragged his fingers through his dark hair, and she shook her head a little. She remembered the girls' reaction to the idea of her dating him, the way she'd recoiled and scoffed at the notion. She gave him a warm smile and lied,

"I don't want to disturb _your_ sleep any more than the storm's already doing. Early morning. So."

"Oh. Yes. Early morning." He licked his bottom lip and nodded, and he cleared his throat a bit as he stammered, "I don't… I… erm… thank you."

Bellatrix balled up her knickers in her hand and just nodded, feeling her cheeks go very hot.

"Goodnight, My Lord."

As she left, feeling suddenly like she should go hide under the blankets in the blue bedroom, she heard him say quietly,

"Night, Bellatrix."

 **Author's Note: Awww. Poor Voldemort; he's not some indomitable sex god. He's just a guy who got really, really excited about the sexy girl in his bed. Hehehehe. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. I'm off to bed… early morning and all. ;)**


	11. No, Monster, Not I

By the time Voldemort woke and began dressing, Bellatrix was already gone, and he figured she must have already left for Malfoy Manor. He was right, it turned out; when he got to his office, the door was already open and she was inside, arranging a creamed scone and a cup of tea on his desk. She'd been to the owlery, he could see.

"Someone's working bright and early," he noted, trying to sound unaffected by what he'd done to her the night before. He was very affected, of course; what little sleep he'd had had been troubled, and he felt an odd mixture of satisfaction, guilt, and hunger. He came around his desk, sat, and nodded up at her. "Thank you."

"Anything else before Mr Yaxley comes, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he just shook his head, gesturing to the tea cart.

"Eat some breakfast, will you? You're always working."

She smirked a little and helped herself to a plain scone and a cup of tea with some sugar, which she carried over to her desk. Voldemort picked up the _Daily Prophet,_ which had a headline story about some idiot who had flouted the Ministry's warning about flying during the thunderstorm and had been struck by lightning outside London. Voldemort rolled his eyes, reaching for the sealed envelope sitting on his desk. He opened it to find a short note from old Titian Selwyn, who was over a hundred and was renowned for his absolute hatred of Muggles and Mudbloods.

 _Dear Mr Riddle (or shall I address you as Lord Voldemort?),_

 _I write to congratulate you on your ascending political movement and to pledge my wholehearted support for what it is you are striving to accomplish. As you and I share ideology and goals, and the wizarding world has been bereft of a good Pureblood movement for some time, you can certainly count me among your patrons. I have ordered a transfer of twenty-five thousand Galleons from my personal account at Gringotts into yours. May you find some use for this small contribution to your cause. Best of luck and warmest wishes._

 _Titian Selwyn_

"Bellatrix," Voldemort breathed, setting down his scone. She looked up in surprise from where she sat, and he grinned at her. He held up the letter and ordered her, "Record in the financial ledger, if you will… a new donation. Twenty-five thousand Galleons from Mr Titian Selwyn."

Bellatrix's eyes bugged out, and she smiled as she pulled out the leather ledger and a quill. As she carefully made the entry, Voldemort noted,

"I shall need to send him a gift as soon as possible to thank him. Something dignified… something…"

"How about an Expanded leather suitcase with the Selwyn family crest stitched into the leather?" Bellatrix suggested. Voldemort raised his eyes, impressed. Bellatrix explained, "He and his wife, Lenna, are spending their retirement doing a lot of traveling. It would show that you're aware of his interests, that you care about your donors on a personal level, but that you're not being financially irresponsible with thank-you gifts. I could get one made up this afternoon for… oh, probably fifteen Galleons? They do them at Corium Emporium. If you write a thank-you note, I'll take it and have it shipped with the bag directly to Mr Selwyn."

Voldemort gave her a very happy look then, and he couldn't keep himself from telling her,

"You're a rather marvelous assistant. Did you know?"

She laughed, and he reached for a small piece of cardstock and a quill. He jotted down,

 _Mr Selwyn,_

 _With heartiest thanks for your support and generosity and a pledge to better our future._

 _L.V._

He held up the card, and Bellatrix came over to fetch it. There was a knock on the door then, and Bellatrix went to drop the card on her desk before dashing over to the door to open it. In the threshold was Corban Yaxley, who looked rather surprised that Bellatrix would sit in on this meeting. She just smiled broadly and gestured him in.

"Tea or coffee, Mr Yaxley?" she asked, and he shook his head with an awkward sort of smile on his face. He walked into the office and pulled off his wizarding hat, which Bellatrix quickly took and hung for him on the rack by the door. Yaxley moved to sit opposite Voldemort, who kept his face calm and steely. Bellatrix sat at her desk, Scouring her breakfast plates. Voldemort left his alone. As Bellatrix broke out her notebook, Voldemort said,

"So. You wanted to discuss Cygnus Black's arrest."

Yaxley glanced quickly over his shoulder, his cheeks going a little pink, and he helplessly whispered,

"Perhaps without his daughter present, My Lord?"

"She's my assistant, and she's taking notes. Say what you need to say," Voldemort clipped. Bellatrix kept her eyes down, and Yaxley cleared his throat roughly.

"He was not altogether drunk, sir," Yaxley said. "As far as we know, he'd had only two Butterbeers. The wizards who were there with the goblins were some Halfbloods and Mudbloods who work for Gringotts. They were taunting Mr Black, calling him a drunkard, a lush, an inebriate. They… one of the wizards said that Cygnus Black had _married up and beat down._ "

Voldemort licked his lip carefully, flicking his eyes to Bellatrix, who was dutifully taking notes. He sighed and repeated to Yaxley,

"Married up and beat down. They meant, I suppose, that he'd snagged a good wife in Druella Rosier, and that it is commonly rumoured that he hits her when drunk."

"That's right, My Lord," Yaxley nodded. "That set Cygnus Black off. He whipped out his wand and began yelling that the wizards were _filthy Mudbloods_ , that the goblins were _vile creatures._ That's when jinxes began flying; the wizards and goblins were laughing, sending Jelly-Legs Jinxes and similar, relatively harmless but embarrassing spells at Black. He lost his temper all the more and began sending things like Severing Charms that cut up the wizards' arms and faces. He Shrank one of the goblins. He aimed a potentially lethal Blasting Curse at a wizard and missed; it hit the bar and nearly destroyed it. That's when Ministry officials arrived and subdued the situation."

"Hm. Seems as though he got off rather easy with some fines and apologies," Voldemort noted, and Yaxley said cautiously,

"That… is my doing. I convinced the Head of Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to just hand down a light charge and sentence. I argued that since he was mostly sober and the insults tossed at him were very personal, the incident could be treated as a bad loss of temper, and he could be forced to make amends. But I worry, My Lord; it does seem as though Cygnus Black has a very serious drinking problem. There are Healers at St Mungo's who can -"

"We've tried that many times. He won't go," Bellatrix said softly from the corner of the room, and Voldemort let that comment register. He shrugged and said to Yaxley,

"I know what you're getting at. Druella wrote saying the same. His behaviour reflects poorly on the Pureblood community at large. Trust that I will handle it."

"Of course I trust you, My Lord," Yaxley said. "I simply wanted to debrief you on the arrest."

"Thank you," Voldemort said. "I'm sure you'd like to get to the Ministry."

Yaxley was shown out by Bellatrix, who silently sat back down and recorded a summary of her notes into the day's journal. Dobby came in and took the tea cart away, and Voldemort just sat at his desk, drumming his fingers and knowing that he could control Cygnus Black further by strengthening his Imperius Curse. Bellatrix knew that, too; he didn't have to explain it to her. They didn't need to discuss this. He watched her finish recording the notes, along with the news about the donation from Selwyn, and then she shut the journal and asked tightly,

"May I please have that note from Mr Selwyn, My Lord, to file away? And, if you don't mind, I'll need fifteen - possibly twenty - Galleons, and I shall go take care of that thank you gift."

Voldemort sighed, handing her the note. Whilst she was filing it in the Documents folder, he counted out twenty-five Galleons and put them into a drawstring bag, and when Bellatrix came near, he handed it over and told her,

"Take your time. It's a nice day. Relax a little."

She curled up half her mouth and shook her head. "You're not paying me to sit outside Florean Fortescue's and eat ice cream, Master."

They both froze then, for there it was. That word. _Master_. She seemed to say it very instinctively, and it always made his heart thump and his breath speed up in his lungs. Her lips parted a little, and shook her head, ready to say something.

"Do _not_ apologise," he insisted, and she just nodded in silence. Voldemort shut his eyes and gripped the edge of his desk, and he told her,

"You do very good work for me. You are a very fine assistant."

"I'm glad you feel that way," she murmured. "Do you prefer a brown or a black bag for Mr Selwyn?"

Voldemort shrugged, his eyes still shut. "I trust your judgment."

"Brown, then," she said confidently, "Because their family crest is mostly gold."

"All right." His own voice was just a hint of a whisper now. Bellatrix sighed and asked,

"Do you need anything else whilst I'm gone?"

"No." He finally just opened his eyes and watched her nod, watched her go, and his fingers tightened on the edge of his desk until his knuckles went white.

* * *

"Bellatrix?"

Voldemort called up the stairs, knowing that she was getting ready for bed and not wanting to go stomping up there and barging in on something private. A few moments later, she appeared at the top of the stairs, and he startled.

"Merlin's beard. What's that all over your face?" he demanded, for she looked like she'd slathered creamy chalk all over herself. Bellatrix grinned, her damp hair bound up in a towel, and she informed him,

"It's a face mask, My Lord. It's to improve the skin."

"Well, what was wrong with your skin before?" he demanded, and she just laughed, pattering down the stairs. His breath caught as he realised she was wearing a plush terry cloth robe, black like everything else she wore, and nothing else. She gave him a playful look, and suddenly all he could smell was her soap and shampoo and the sharp, clean aroma of the mask on her face. Her dark eyes shone through the bright white, and she asked,

"Did you need something?"

"An owl came for you," he said. He held out a small parcel, and he said, "It's just addressed to _Bellatrix Black_ , so the bird must have been more intelligent than the mountain troll whose seal is on the other side."

She frowned, and then her eyes rolled hard when she saw the Lestrange family seal on the wax. She made a disgusted sort of noise and broke open the seal, and Voldemort started to walk away, thinking that it was none of his business what her fiancé sent to her. But then Bellatrix's voice said,

"He writes like a mountain troll, too. Look; his handwriting is atrocious."

Voldemort turned back, morbidly curious, and saw that Bellatrix had sat down upon the wooden steps and crossed her legs carefully. He still felt a flush of want for her, even with a towel around her hair and the silly mask on her face. He felt a strong pull of need, of longing. He gulped as he took the note that Bellatrix handed him, thinking he shouldn't read it. After all, Rodolphus had sent it to Bellatrix, not to him. But his curiosity got the better of him.

 _Dear Bella,_

 _I know our wedding is long ways away (maybe a really long ways away), but I wanted you to have this in the meantime to know that I'm always thinking about you and that I really think you're pretty and I think you'll be a nice, good wife for me. All the love from me to you._

 _Dolph_

Voldemort's stomach gave an ugly twist as he ready the childishly scrawled note a second time, and then a third time. It was like a ten-year-old had cobbled these words together, he thought. Bellatrix deserved so much more than this. His eyes seared oddly, and he felt a nasty coil of jealous anger inside his abdomen. He nearly Vanished the note. He nearly crumpled it up and set it on fire. Instead, he handed it back to Bellatrix, gave a derisive laugh, and confirmed,

"Yes. You are engaged to a mountain troll. I'm sure the offspring will be delightful."

He realised at once that she hadn't found his joke funny at all. She didn't laugh. She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Voldemort cleared his throat and asked,

"Well? What did he send you? He mentioned you having something. I think. Difficult to make sense of what he wrote."

"Oh. There's a box." Bellatrix pulled out a black velvet square and pried it open, and inside there was a rounded silver heart pendant on a chain. She frowned a little, her lip curling up when she noted,

"It's engraved. There's a _B_ and an _R_ intertwined. Oh, it's a locket. Oh, no." She peeled open the locket, which was apparently enchanted. When she opened it, a tinkling little song played, and Voldemort could see that one side had a repeatedly scribing _B_ and the other side had an _R_. Bellatrix clicked the locket shut, shoved it back into the velvet box, and stuffed the note into the parcel. She stood and started to climb the stairs quickly, calling over her shoulder,

"Sorry to bother you with the owl, My Lord. Thanks for letting me know."

"Not a problem," he said, blinking quickly where he stood. He felt numb for a moment, listening to the sink run upstairs. She was washing off her beauty mask, probably. She was already very beautiful; she didn't need a mask. He wanted to tell her that. But he just stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened to her bedroom door shut, and he decided he was going to drink an entire bottle of wine before he went to bed.

 **Author's Note: Geez. Between Cygnus and Rodolphus, Bellatrix has some real winner wizards in her life, right? Good thing she has Voldemort to swoop in and save the day. (*nudge nudge* Get to swooping, Voldemort.)**


	12. Lend Thy Hand

"Just one bit of mail this evening, My Lord," Bellatrix said, bringing in the loot from her last trip to the owlery before they headed home for the night. There was just one very thick envelope, and Bellatrix crinkled her nose as she said, "I think I know what that it is. It's a wedding invitation. Eugh. I know the girl. My mum wrote to me yesterday to say I'd been invited along with the rest of the family, but I'm not going."

"No?" Voldemort frowned as he broke open the envelope. "Why not?"

"Delilah Flint and I were both Slytherins in the same year. We weren't exactly model roommates," Bellatrix confessed. "She snored. _Badly_. One time in our fourth year, I confronted her about it, telling her that perhaps if she lost a bit of weight, it might help."

"Ouch," Voldemort chuckled, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes as she said,

"Well, that set off this whole great row where Acantha Greengrass was scolding me for criticising Delilah's weight, and Delilah spent the next three years glaring daggers at me whenever she saw me. Anyway, we never got along properly. My own fault, I'm sure, but. Still. I'm not going to her wedding."

"Sorry to hear that," Voldemort said seriously. He pulled out the formal invitation and chewed his lip hard as he noted, "They're rather tardy in sending out invitations; the blasted event's in less than a week!"

"Well, it's typical for Purebloods, I think," Bellatrix said. "They sent out a notice to save the date six months ago, my mum said. And everyone's known they were betrothed. Besides, Purebloods all discuss the summer calendar. Everyone knew the Flint-Avery wedding was this weekend."

"Oh, yes. That's right. It's Avery's nephew, Findlay. Well, then, I really do have to attend. Avery was a school associate of mine; I've known the man for over thirty years. He leaped into being a Death Eater the moment I began recruiting. I have to attend."

Bellatrix shifted on her feet and shrugged a little. "Please let me know if you need me to buy a gift for them. I'm happy to do any shopping for you."

He raised his eyes to her, dragging his finger along the edge of the thick, embossed invitation, and he said gravely,

"If I go on my own to this wedding, I _will_ look pathetic. I will have Death Eaters there. Almost all of them. I can not waddle in there on my own like some sort of deserted, unwanted outsider."

Bellatrix huffed and said, "Well, I can ask… erm… Rosie Travers? I'm sure she'd go with you."

"Rosie Travers," Voldemort repeated incredulously. He scoffed. "She's, what, eighteen?"

"She's the same age as I am!" Bellatrix declared defensively, which made Voldemort pinch his lips where he sat. Bellatrix collected herself and pointed out, "Even if I didn't completely despise Delilah Flint - which I _do_ \- I must ask you whether you think it is wise for me to attend two weddings as your date in one summer. People will… assume things. And that's bad, because I am still betrothed."

Voldemort sucked on his teeth and nodded, and he said quietly, "I understand. But you're my employee. If people want to assume, they're being foolish. I need a wedding date; you are my assistant. It all makes sense if they don't overthink it."

Bellatrix knew this was a bad idea. The girls in the pub had thought she'd been dating him just because he'd come to take her home by Side-Along Apparition. Attending her school enemy's wedding on his arm would look… very suspicious. She swallowed hard and insisted,

"Rosie is a very pretty girl."

"No. I'd rather go alone. Thanks, anyway." Voldemort sniffed lightly and said, "I'll just gift them a card and coin. No need to shop."

"All right. I think I'll go eat dinner at the Leaky Cauldron," Bellatrix said, "just for a change of pace. See you later."

"Bye." Voldemort drummed his fingers on his desk as she quickly walked out of his office, and he seemed more than a little irritated.

* * *

Bellatrix was patting her face dry when Voldemort appeared in the doorway of her bathroom. She set down her hand towel, surprised to see him there, and she turned, standing in her nightgown and wrapping her arms around herself a little.

"We make bargains, you and I," he said, and she nodded. He shrugged. "One month with no rent."

Bellatrix laughed a little. "This is you trying to get me to attend Delilah Flint's wedding with you?"

"Mmm-hmm," he confirmed, and Bellatrix sighed, shaking her head a little. She stared at the floor, dragging her toes along the tile there.

"Rodolphus sent me an engraved locket and a letter telling me he loved me."

"Sort of," Voldemort snapped, and Bellatrix couldn't help but smile. She looked up and reminded him,

"Someday… eventually… I have to marry him."

Voldemort blinked and shrugged again, appearing to be struggling hard to look disaffected.

"Rosie Travers, then. Is she pretty?"

Bellatrix's stomach hurt suddenly. Her eyes burned. She just nodded and told him,

"She… she was there when you came to pick me up. The tall brunette with the pale freckles."

"Oh. Yes, I remember now. All right. She'll do." Voldemort started to turn to walk away, and an almost violently clear image came into Bellatrix's mind. She was dancing with him at the last wedding they'd attended. He was so tall, so handsome, looming over and guiding her through the music with confidence and a little smirk.

"N-No," Bellatrix said quickly, and Voldemort turned back. He leaned against the threshold of the bathroom, his face completely blank. Bellatrix stepped up to him, and she put her hands on the simple white tunic he was wearing with his plaid pyjama trousers, and she murmured, "We make bargains, you and I."

"We do." He covered her hands with hers, and when she stared up at him, she whispered,

"Let me touch you."

He snorted a bit and reminded her, "I offered you a month without rent. I'll let you touch me either way."

"All right, then," she nodded. "One month without rent, and you let me use my hand on you and watch what happens."

She had her monthly bleeding, so sex wasn't possible tonight, but she desperately wanted to feel and see his pleasure. He tipped his head and squeezed at her hands a little, and he demanded quietly,

"In exchange, you attend the wedding with me and pretend you and Delilah Flint got along swimmingly. You dance with me and dine with me, and if anyone asks, you're my date because you're my administrative assistant, and it was convenient for us both."

"All right," Bellatrix nodded. He started to back away from the bathroom then, bringing Bellatrix with him into his red and black bedroom. She followed him up onto his bed, and when they got there, he lay on his back and she knelt beside him.

"Is this just morbid anatomical curiosity?" he asked, and she grinned.

"You've caught me," she confessed, tugging a little at the waistband of his pyjamas.

"Wait," he said quietly, and she paused. He stared up at her and then whispered, "Kiss me first."

"Oh." Bellatrix bent down and planted a few soft kisses on his lips that wound up deepening. She found herself using gravity to assist her, letting her tongue fall into his mouth, where he suckled on it and played with it. Bellatrix moaned, holding his face and caressing his chest through his sleeping tunic. She stroked at his neck, at his hair, and after awhile, she broke away for breath. He helped her yank his trousers down then, and he snatched his wand as he took his cock in his left hand.

"Don't let anyone tell you otherwise; the first spell first-year boys master at Hogwarts is this one. _Lubrico_ ," he incanted, and Bellatrix giggled. It was a charm to lubricate, to make something slick with almost no friction without the mess of liquid. She wrapped her hand around the thick shaft of his cock, trying to make her fingers meet, and she began to move up and down, unsure of what to do.

"The tip feels best," he informed her rather warmly, and Bellatrix nodded, nervously moving her hand to the tip whilst she put the other hand on the shaft. She hesitantly twisted her right hand around his tip, and with the lubrication, she was able to squeeze a bit as her palm rotated. Voldemort arched his back up and squeezed at the sheets a little, and he nodded.

"Mmm-hmm," he hummed, and Bellatrix grinned. She pumped one hand up and down his shaft and kept twisting the other round his tip, repeating the process four or five times until he groaned and shifted his hips and muttered, "Ahh… too much. A little too much."

"Sorry." Bellatrix slowed her hands and eased her pressure, and she bent down to kiss him again. He seemed happy about that, and he slid his tongue slowly between her lips as he held her face with slightly shaking hands. She kept stroking him, slowly and simply, as they kissed, and when she pulled back a little, letting their breath mingle, he murmured,

"I very much enjoy… you."

She smiled, putting her lips to his cheekbone, and she sat back as she assured him,

"I enjoy you, too. Master."

" _Oh_." He liked that word, she knew. He liked it quite a lot. She deepened the pressure of her left hand on his shaft and swirled her right palm and fingers around his tip. She found a spot on the bottom that seemed to drive him a bit made, making his eyes flutter, and she whispered,

"Master…"

"Bella," he muttered back, and a shock of pleasure went up her spine. She had to fight to keep her hands moving, and she told him seriously,

"I like when you call me that."

"Bella," he groaned again, and then his fingers raked over the sheets and he wrenched his eyes shut and his face twisted. "Bella."

She felt his cock go almost impossibly rigid in her hands, felt his hips stiffen, and then suddenly he seemed to explode. His come burst out of him in creamy jets that shot out erratically and landed in puddles all over his stomach; he'd thought to yank up his tunic. He'd done this before, Bellatrix realised. She pulled her hands away and watched as the come made a complete mess all over him, as he moaned and thrashed a little where he lay, and she whispered in awe,

"Oh, My Lord… Master…"

After a very, very long while, his breath finally slowed, and with a trembling hand, he reached for his wand and nonverbally Siphoned and Scoured up the puddles of seed all over his skin. Bellatrix just watched as he tucked himself away and adjusted his pyjamas, and then he stared up at her and insisted,

"I am thirty seconds away from falling asleep."

She smiled a little and stroked at his cheek, and she bent to gently kiss him once more as she said,

"I'm still not paying rent for a month if you want me to go to Delilah's wedding with you."

"I want you to go to Delilah's wedding with me," he insisted. "I'll eat the rent."

She laughed against his cheek, feeling a pang at the idea of leaving him and knowing that meant she needed to. She kissed his cheekbone once more and said gently,

"Goodnight."

He looked a little regretful as he watched her rise from his bed and walk out of his room, pulling his door shut behind her, but he said in a quiet voice,

"Goodnight."

 **Author's Note: Ahhh. Things are so sweet. So lemony fresh. And they're going to another wedding together. What could** _ **possibly**_ **go horribly, terribly, hideously wrong? Uh-oh.**


	13. With a Heart As Willing

"Ready to go?" Voldemort called. "We probably ought to head over there."

He stood in his bedroom and adjusted the cufflinks of his tuxedo robe sleeves, and then he ran a comb one last time through his sleekly side parted hair. In the mirror, he saw a figure appear at his door, and when he turned, his mouth dropped open, and he blinked quickly as he whispered,

"Oh, my."

She was impossibly beautiful. He wasn't quite sure how she'd pulled it off. This was a more formal wedding than the Greengrass affair had been, since it was being held at Avery Castle in the Scottish Lowlands and would be a very lavish indoor affair. Bellatrix had obviously dressed with that in mind.

She had on a black silk gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, with long, tight sleeves and a very low draped neckline that revealed the gentle swell of her small breasts. She wore a long silver chain with a small, round diamond that only drew more attention to her breasts. The black silk of the gown was like water as it moved around her, and when she did a little spin, he could see that it was draped low in the back to mirror the front.

Her hair had been smoothed and made shiny, yanked into a tight bun at the back of her head, and she had round diamonds sparkling in her ears. Her makeup was dramatic, with heavy dark smudging artfully done around her eyes and a deep shade of burgundy painted onto her lips. It was painful, how pretty she looked, and all Voldemort could do was stare.

"You look…" He wasn't sure what the right thing to say was, so he averted his eyes and settled on, "Very nice."

She laughed a little and said, "Thank you. You look exceedingly handsome. Yes, I'm ready to go. Shall we?"

She approached him, and Voldemort contemplated what the last week had been like between them. Pleasant. It had been very pleasant. Evenings had been spent chatting over dinner. He'd played the piano and she'd listened. They'd kissed and touched sometimes before bed, though nothing more. Work was very productive. Everything had been terribly _pleasant_. Voldemort very much liked being around Bellatrix. He liked having her near him.

She was near him now, and he held his arm out to her, smiling a little as he told her,

"I appreciate you coming. I know this isn't an event you wished to attend."

"You know… suddenly, I don't mind," she said, and Voldemort smirked a bit. He took hold of her hand and Disapparated, thinking intently of Avery Castle. When they landed, they were just outside the grand stone building, and they followed the stream of guests inside.

Bellatrix went over to visit with her family for awhile, and Voldemort noticed that Cygnus Black looked more than a little intoxicated. He frowned; was his Imperius Curse on the man slipping? Or was Cygnus' alcoholism strong enough to override even an Unforgivable?

"Hello, there, sir."

Voldemort turned at the sound of Avery's voice, and he held out his hand to squeeze at Avery's shoulder in greeting.

"Congratulations to your nephew," he said warmly. Avery gave a rather sour look and said,

"I feel for the boy. He is… well, he's not celebrating today, I'm afraid."

"No?" Voldemort kept his voice light, and Avery leaned in and said,

"The girl is… hmm. She's not a beauty. And she's dull of mind. My nephew Findlay is handsome and very bright. This is like the end of the road for him. It's too bad, really. Just a badly forged match."

"There seem to be a lot of those making their way about," Voldemort gulped. From behind him, he heard a voice say very loudly,

"Showing your tits off to everyone who'll look at them!"

There were gasps, and Voldemort whirled around to see Cygnus Black wrenching off his tuxedo cloak and shoving it over Bellatrix's shoulders.

"Wear this, you little whore. Cover up."

"Excuse me, Avery," Voldemort said tightly, and as Voldemort approached the Black family, Bellatrix calmly pulled her father's cloak off and murmured something.

"Daddy, _please_." Narcissa was crying now, and Andromeda was sulking a distance away. Druella was guiding Narcissa away, until Voldemort walked up and said in a very pleasant voice,

"Cygnus! Druella. Good evening."

"I'm sure you don't mind that she's dressed like a damned prostitute," Cygnus slurred, and even from where he stood, Voldemort could smell the firewhisky. A group of witches laughed rather maliciously, and Voldemort flicked his eyes over to see them chattering as they watched the embarrassing scene unfold. Voldemort silently took Cygnus' cloak from Bellatrix and handed it to her father. He couldn't Imperius the man here, or even Confound him. People would notice. So he just sighed, thinking that perhaps some addictions could override even the most determined magic, and he said,

"Druella, I think you and Cygnus and your younger daughters may want to go home to attend to Cygnus' illness. He seems unwell to me."

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Druella agreed, sounding utterly humiliated. She looked right at Bellatrix and assured her,

"You look lovely, dear."

"She looks like a _whore_ , with her tits out for everyone to see!" Cygnus cried. Voldemort grabbed Cygnus' elbow then and wrenched rather roughly, guiding the man toward the front door of the castle. Druella, Narcissa, and Andromeda followed, and he asked Druella,

"How did you arrive?"

"Portkey, My Lord," she said. "I can redo the spells for the time on the return vessel."

"Do so," he said. "We can not have things like this happening at Pureblood events. Cygnus."

He looked right into Cygnus' bleary eyes then, and he finally used wandless, nonverbal magic to Confound the man. Cygnus buzzed a little, and though Voldemort was sure Druella must have noticed the spell, Voldemort said,

"There is a treatment programme at St Mungo's. A residential programme to treat alcoholism. You should enter it immediately."

"That sounds like a good idea," Cygnus said. Voldemort pushed Cygnus away and muttered,

"Goodnight, ladies." Then he made his way back inside.

* * *

"I am so sorry about my father," Bellatrix said at the dinner table, leaning over a little speak in a soft, humiliated voice to Voldemort. He shook his head and picked up the salmon rillette appetizer. He chewed a bite, swallowed it, and washed it down with a sip of Champagne.

"He'll be entering treatment tomorrow," he said. "I am sorry you were embarrassed in public like that."

Bellatrix was quiet for a moment, taking a bite of her food in silence before finally asking,

"Am I really dressed like a whore?"

Voldemort frowned and sipped his Champagne again.

"No. You are not."

"All right." She finished her salmon rillette, and Voldemort made some small talk with the Flint relatives who were seated at their table. Aurelius Flint, it turned out, was extremely interested in discussing the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, which interested neither Bellatrix nor Voldemort. They both feigned interest through the filet mignon, and then it was mercifully time for Delilah and Findlay to cut the cake.

They really did not seem happy together, Voldemort thought. Delilah seemed like a doughy, angry girl with the personality of a tortoise. Findlay was more like a mouse, moving quickly, smiling nervously and insincerely at people. The two of them didn't touch at all. They were ill-suited. It was obvious. Suddenly Voldemort tried to imagine a wedding where Bellatrix was the bride and Rodolphus was the groom, and he felt sick.

He forced his hands to clap when the cake was cut and the pieces magically appeared on the plates before the guests. He ate his piece in sombre quiet as the newly married couple suffered through a siff, short first dance. The floor was opened up then, but Voldemort did not much feel like dancing. He just sighed and stared at his cake plate, pushing crumbs around with his fork.

"Hullo, Bella. I wonder if you'd like to dance."

Voldemort scowled as he looked up to see Rodolphus Lestrange, hulking and grinning like a fool where he stood before Bellatrix's chair. She frantically glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort, and he knew why she was panicking. He was her date, but Rodolphus was her fiancé. People could plainly see that Rodolphus was here asking his betrothed for a dance; it would be obscene and scandalous for her to deny him. And the last thing Bellatrix needed tonight was more scandal. Voldemort turned his eyes back to his cake plate, scraping his fork tines against the china as he heard Bellatrix say wearily,

"Sure, Dolph. I'd love to."

"Oh, fantastic! I thought you'd say no," the ungainly beast said, and Voldemort shut his eyes. He wouldn't look up, he decided. He wouldn't watch her dance with him. But then his curiosity got the better of him, and finally, halfway through the song, he flicked his eyes up and felt horror crash through him.

Rodolphus had Bellatrix pulled in _awfully_ close. His big clumsy hand was clutching tightly at Bellatrix's bared back, and he appeared to be cutting off the circulation in her hand. He wasn't even guiding her to the actual beat of the music, Voldemort thought derisively, though he could see Bellatrix desperately trying to keep them moving with the tempo. Rodolphus was grinning down at Bellatrix, having some sort of conversation with her. She was shaking her head, and he tipped his head, and suddenly Voldemort couldn't help himself.

" _Legilimens_ ," he whispered, and he went crashing into Rodolphus Lestrange's mind. He shoved away all the useless memories and stray thoughts and got straight to the impressions of what was happening right now.

 _Life as a bachelor is good, but she'll be even better. Pretty. She's pretty. Going to kiss her. If I don't ask, she can't stop me._

Voldemort felt his eyes bug out of his skull, and he flew to his feet, walking very briskly to where Bellatrix was dancing with Rodolphus. The song reached its last few notes, and he could see Rodolphus leaning down, making his move.

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said, jolting both Rodolphus and Bellatrix. She recoiled back from Rodolphus, looking very grateful all of a sudden. Voldemort kept his posture and voice formal as he said tightly, "I wonder if I might be honoured with the next dance."

"Oh. Of course, sir," Bellatrix nodded. She grinned at Rodolphus. "Thanks for the dance, Dolph. Have a good night."

"Yeah. You, too." Rodolphus seemed disappointed. _Thwarted_ , Voldemort thought bitterly, and he nodded crisply.

"Very good to see you, Mr Lestrange."

"You, too, sir," Rodolphus nodded, and as he walked away, Voldemort swept Bellatrix into an elegant stance and expertly moved into the flowing waltz that had begun to play. Bellatrix sighed and said gratefully,

"Thank you for not holding onto me like a life preserver, or trodding on my feet, or -"

"He was half a second from kissing you," Voldemort said in a snap, and Bellatrix looked shocked. Voldemort tipped his head. "I'm a Legilimens; I saw it in his mind."

"Oh." Bellatrix did not seem at all offended that Voldemort had gone snooping in others' thoughts. She nodded and told him, "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Bella," Voldemort said quite firmly, keeping his steps tight and his stance perfect, "I have to tell you something. If I don't say it now, I may not find the courage again any time soon, and I feel that I need to say it."

She blinked, looking afraid, but she kept quiet. He cleared his throat, his mind screaming at him to shut up, to go sit back down and eat some more cake. But he gulped and said,

"I generally dislike the presence of people near me. But I very much like having you in close proximity - at work, in my home. I enjoy spending my time with you, both professionally and personally. I am ferociously attracted to your personality and to your body. I… I have never been _with_ someone, you understand, but I feel a profound sense of protective defensiveness about you. I feel a jealous sense of... possession… when it comes to you."

"Oh." Her steps faltered a little, and then her eyes watered a bit, and he knew why. He couldn't be possessive of her; she was still betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange, to the oaf who had just heaved her around the dance floor. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and said tightly,

"Your father has absolutely no leverage at the moment. I'm sure plenty of girls would like to marry into the Lestrange family. I wonder if you would consider working with me to permanently sever your betrothal."

She nodded vigorously and grinned, and she seemed emotional as she asked,

"And what must I do in return?"

"In return?" He was confused, and she clarified,

"We make bargains, you and I. You'll help me break off this stupid, awful engagement once and for all. What do you want in return."

"You." He stopped dancing then, and Bellatrix just stared up at him. She finally nodded and said softly up to him,

"I quite like that bargain… Master."

He shivered then and mumbled, "We should keep dancing. I'll begin work on this on Monday. Let's finish dancing."

 **Author's Note: Awww. He just wants** _ **her**_ **. So, Cygnus isn't in a position to argue about the betrothal getting cut off, but what about the Lestrange family? And what exactly does Voldemort mean when he says he wants her in exchange for breaking off the engagement? Hmm…**

 **This story has TONS of readership (yay!) and really not a lot of reviews (not so yay!) so if you get just a quick moment to drop me a line and let me know what you think of the story so far, I'd be really grateful. Thank you!**


	14. Thou Art Inclined To Sleep

"Bellatrix," Voldemort said quietly from his desk, "I've got two letters for you to send off from the owlery, if you please. One goes to your father at St Mungo's, and the other goes to Remy Lestrange at Castle Lestrange."

He held up two parchments, and Bellatrix felt a coil of anxiety go through her.

"Yes, My Lord," she said quietly, and she rose from her desk and walked over to his. She'd been finishing up her evening tasks, entering in a summary of notes from a meeting this afternoon with Nott about proselytizing the Pureblood message. Now she approached Voldemort's desk and took the letters, trying to resist the temptation to read them.

"Go ahead," Voldemort said, and Bellatrix stood before him, reading the letter to her father first.

 _Cygnus,_

 _I hope the treatment for your severe, debilitating, and socially humiliating alcoholism is off to a productive start._

 _Please know that, after extensive discussion with Bellatrix (whom you have abused in both the physical and emotional sense), I have determined that her betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange will be severed. This is not up for debate or discussion. I will only apologise for any disappointment that you may experience at this news._

 _Be well; I have confidence that the St Mungo's Healers will assist you in finding a solution for your incredibly embarrassing and problematic issue with drinking._

 _Lord Voldemort_

Bellatrix smirked just a little to herself, and she noted,

"Well, you certainly didn't equivocate. Not exactly as though he can say no."

"He can not," Voldemort confirmed. "The other goes to Remy Lestrange. I had to be a bit more careful there."

Bellatrix curiously turned the pages of the letters and studied the second page. She frowned a little when she saw just how neatly and cautiously the letter had been written.

 _Dear Mr Lestrange,_

 _I am well aware that plans were drawn up a decade ago to arrange betrothal between your son, Rodolphus, and the eldest daughter of Cygnus Black III, Bellatrix. You may be aware that Miss Black is now under my employ as an administrative assistant and that she is my rent-paying tenant._

 _In the course of conversation, Miss Black has expressed serious concerns to me about whether she and Rodolphus can live a contented and meaningful life as a married couple. She believes - and I wholeheartedly agree with her assessment - that perhaps the match was drawn up before either her or Rodolphus' personalities were properly assessed._

 _Now that the two of them have grown, I believe the marriage promises nothing but misery. As I strive to promote a healthy Pureblood culture, I believe that a powerfully significant custom to be adjusted is the manner in which marriages are arranged. Betrothals should be drawn up to factor in personality and compatibility, not just strategic family bonds._

 _At this time, I think it would be most wise to sever the betrothal between Bellatrix Black and your son Rodolphus. She can not, after all, be made to marry against her will (as per the Tobias Law), and it is very much her will not to marry in this particular case. I trust that you are a sufficiently intelligent man to discern that if a witch truly does not want into a marriage, pushing it forward is unwise._

 _I have attached a document to be signed by Bellatrix Black and by Rodolphus, agreeing to end their engagement and freeing each up to seek out other relationships or fresh marital opportunities. It will arrive with Miss Black's signature. I trust that Rodolphus will sign it and file it with the Ministry._

 _Best Regards,_

 _Lord Voldemort_

Bellatrix was shocked as she finished reading the letter. She went to the third sheet of paper, which was a formal legal document absolving her and Rodolphus of their betrothal, which had itself been legally binding. Bellatrix's heart raced as she set the parchment down and accepted the quill that Voldemort held out to her. She signed her name on the line at the bottom of the page and said gratefully,

"This should work, My Lord. Thank you. _Thank you_."

"Go," he said softly. "Take them up to the owlery."

* * *

Much later that night, Bellatrix lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind blow outside the window of the blue bedroom. She huffed out a shallow breath and picked at her blankets, wondering how her father was doing. Were they giving him potions? Were they hypnotising him? Working with him in some sort of talk therapy? Voldemort had lifted his Imperius Curse, he'd said, so it wouldn't be detected. Her father's disease and behaviour would be on full display. Could they help him at St Mungo's? Or was he the sort of man beyond helping?

Bellatrix shut her eyes and had a vivid memory of earlier this summer, when her father had consumed an entire bottle of firewhisky and had slammed Andromeda roughly into a wall until she'd slumped down, half-conscious. Bellatrix had screamed at him and had threatened to Stun him, but then her father had cast an Oppugno Jinx at her. Lamps, books, clocks, vases, and more had come careening toward Bellatrix, banging into her arms and face and head. She'd shrieked and aimed her wand at her father, accidentally overcharging the Knockback Jinx she'd thrown at him to make him stop. His body had crumpled like a ragdoll, putting a little hole in the wall when he'd hit it, and her mother had wound up fetching a Mediwitch from St Mungo's, who had recommended overnight admission.

Bellatrix slowly rose from her bed, thinking that she would go get a cup of tea. She was disturbed, and lying here thinking wasn't helping. Perseverating on her father's awfulness wasn't helping. She went downstairs and brewed herself up a cup of warm green tea in the kitchen, not wanting to keep herself awake any worse than she was already doing. She sat at the kitchen table and sipped the soothing hot liquid, and she thought about Rodolphus.

Maybe he'd make someone else happy. Rosie Travers had never been betrothed; her parents had decided to let her choose. That had always made Bellatrix jealous. Maybe Rosie Travers could be happy with Rodolphus Lestrange. He was a buffoon, but he was a mostly well-meaning buffoon. Rosie didn't need a genius. She was a sweet and silly girl, but she was of middling intelligence, and she would drive an intellectual man mad. She was pretty, too, which would please Rodolphus. And Rodolphus was big and broad, which would probably please Rosie. Yes, the two of them would be a good match - a much better match than Bellatrix and Rodolphus had ever been.

Then Bellatrix thought about Lord Voldemort.

The day she'd gone into his office looking for help, she had not expected to be here, sitting in his dining room in the middle of the night with him sleeping upstairs. She had not expected to be living with him, working for him, the two of them hatching a scheme to cancel Bellatrix's betrothal. She certain had not expected to be falling so hard for him the way she was doing, and now she knew that that was what was happening.

She thought about him in the shower, when she was washing her hair and touching her wet body. She would sometimes lie on her belly and snake her fingers between her legs, knowing he was on the other side of the wall. Sometimes she'd listen to him play the piano, admiring him from where she sat drinking some tea, and then she'd go over to him and kiss him until they couldn't breathe. She adored his dry sense of humour. She admired his thirst for power. It was why her instinct told her to call him _Master_. She wanted to hear more stories like the tale of the Manticore who had torn his chest to shreds. She knew he'd already been up to no good, and that he wanted to wreak havoc in the future. She wanted to be a part of it. She craved him, the physical and the other parts.

She had asked him what he'd wanted in return for helping her end her betrothal to Rodolphus. _You_ , he'd said, and it had been two days since then. What had he meant? He'd kissed her the night before, pressing her against the wall and driving his erection against her belly as he slipped his hands into her curls and whispered her name in the darkness. _Bella, Bella._ He'd told her that he felt protective, jealous, possessive. And when asked what he'd wanted in return for his help, he'd said one word - _you_ \- that had meant everything and had also been very confusing.

Bellatrix drank the last of her tea and Scoured the cup, and she walked into the kitchen to put the cup and saucer away. Then she sighed and decided to take a risk. If it paid off, she'd know more about where the two of them stood. The worst that could happen, she reckoned, was that she would be rejected tonight and sent back to the blue bedroom. There were worse fates.

She walked up the narrow wooden stairs and waited outside his bedroom for a moment, and finally she raised her knuckles and knocked on the door. After a very long moment, the door opened, and Voldemort stood there, looking very bleary-eyed. She'd woken him, which was very rude, owing to the fact that it was half past two in the morning. But Bellatrix just informed him quietly,

"I haven't slept yet."

"Hmm." Voldemort's throat bobbed. He knew what she wanted. She had Dreamless Sleep; she could have taken that. He reached for her hand and silently pulled her into his room, shutting the door behind her. Bellatrix's heart thrummed as she felt his fingers tangle with hers, as he gently took her wand and set it on the table beside the bed. He pulled her carefully into the bed with him, sliding over and encouraging her to lie down, and when she did, he spooned up behind her, cradling her against him and wrapping his right arm around her body.

He'd still barely spoken, but nothing felt awkward. Everything felt just right. There was no need for sex right now, no need for them to touch one another to a climax. Perhaps that would come in the morning, or perhaps not. It didn't matter. What mattered right now was that Voldemort had his thumb dragging over Bellatrix's hand, his lips pressing beneath her ear, and he was whispering,

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she replied, shutting her eyes as he pulled the blankets more tightly around them. She shut her eyes and felt completely at peace, breathing in the masculine scent of him in his bed, and within moments she was deeply lost to sleep.

 **Author's Note: Well, they've finally fallen asleep together. What happens when they wake up together? Mwah hahaha. And, less adorably, what happens when Remy Lestrange, who isn't a pathetic alcoholic, gets Voldemort's letter? Thank you so much to those who are reading and for all feedback. Much love to all!**


	15. Saw I Him Touch'd With Anger

Voldemort blinked open his eyes to see Bellatrix lying beside him, still sleeping. He made a little noise of happy surprise. Somehow, he thought perhaps she would have woken and escaped, but she seemed very comfortable here beside him. She was also remarkably beautiful, lying there with her braid over one shoulder, her eyes shut and her lips parted just a little. Suddenly, Voldemort thought that he wanted her in his bed every single night, that he wanted her with him all the time.

He was beginning to fall in love with her.

That realisation socked him in the gut like a punch. He gulped hard, knowing it was true, knowing he could never tell her. He blinked and watched her slowly open her eyes, and he murmured quietly,

"Morning."

She smiled a little and whispered, "Good morning."

"I think we're late for work," he told her. Then he flicked his eyes to the clock on his wall and confirmed, "It's already eight. We were both a little too cosy, perhaps."

"Oh, no!" Bellatrix sat up quickly, but he shook his head and pulled at her wrist a little, and he insisted,

"It's my office. If I want to go in late, I will. I don't have a meeting until four this afternoon. My Death Eaters."

He felt an odd pang inside of him then, something making him wonder if she could ever be that kind of servant. As she sat up beside him, staring down at him, he informed her,

"I have killed many people. What do you think about that, Bellatrix?"

Her face was steely. "I think you probably have done whatever you needed to do, Master."

He nodded. "And what about you? If someone asked you to hurt people, for the right reasons, would you do it?"

"For you, My Lord, and for your cause, I would do absolutely anything," Bellatrix said. Voldemort felt his chest pull. He felt more blood flush to his cock, hardening further his morning erection. She seemed to sense his arousal, and she made a move to unbutton his pyjama shirt. She pushed it open and dragged her fingers over his thick scar, making him shiver, and she said,

"You defeated a Manticore in search of something Dark."

"A witch had Inferi she'd created to guard something she'd made," Voldemort said. "It was a vessel to protect her soul. To try and make her immortal. She was guarding it with Inferi and a Manticore. I fought her Manticore. I was bleeding like mad; I was torn to shreds. I destroyed her Inferi. I found what she was hiding, but it was of little use to me. I escaped, and the Gypsy wizards healed my wounds."

"You have killed many people?" Bellatrix asked softly, and he nodded. She tipped her head. "What sort of people?"

He hesitated, and then he said quietly, "Well. One was my father, to give you an example."

Bellatrix laughed a little, shocking him, and she muttered, "Sometimes I wish I could kill my father."

"Perhaps someday you will," he teased, and she curled up her lips. Then her smile faded as she dared to ask him,

"Riddle was his name? Was he…?"

"A Muggle? Yes, he was," Voldemort nodded. "As filthy dead as he was alive. I never knew him, so it didn't matter."

He studied her reaction, and then she completely surprised him by saying almost sternly,

"If you needed me to do something of that magnitude, I hope you know that I would do it. I would do _anything_ that you asked of me. I am not afraid."

Voldemort felt his breath quicken in his nostrils. He nodded and thought to himself that perhaps one day she might make a fine Death Eater. He blinked a few times and asked her,

"Would you like to serve me as my closest allies do?"

"I thought I _was_ one of your closest allies," Bellatrix said, sounding a little hurt, and he turned up half his mouth. He'd only gotten to know her during this summer, after all. He reached up to toy with her hair, feeling very erect and very needy, and he let his other hand glide up from her knee to the inside of her thigh. Bellatrix gasped a little and asked breathlessly,

"This is how your closest allies serve you?"

"No," he laughed, and he let his fingers work their way up to the waistband of her knickers, which he edged down. She kicked her way out of them, and when he put his hand back between her legs, he was surprised to find that the pads of his fingers were met with a dewy warmth. She was wet. She wanted him.

"Bella," he hummed, and her own hands quickly went for her wand. She brushed it along her lower abdomen and incanted confidently,

" _Nongravidare._ "

That just made him harder than ever, the fact that she so evidently craved him like he craved her. He groaned a little and shoved down his pyjama trousers, kicking them away beneath his blankets. He was surprised by Bellatrix's gall then as she straddled him like she'd done that stormy night with her knickers, when she'd ground her way to completion above him. She stared down into his eyes and asked,

"Like this?"

"Yes," he whispered, and he lined up the tip of his cock with her entrance. He put his hands on her hips and carefully urged her downward, and she was so snug and warm and wet around him that he moaned and drove his head back. Bellatrix whimpered and squeezed at his shoulders, her hair falling around her face as she let her head fall forward. She began to rock once he'd been hilted within her; she swirled her hips in circles and cycled forward and up, down and back. Her movements were a little clumsy at first, but Voldemort guided her hips until they found a messy rhythm, and she whispered,

"Oh. Oh, I like this. I like this a _lot_."

He smiled up at her and nodded. "So do I."

He tried desperately to stave off his climax this time, to give her time to enjoy it. She was seemingly enjoying herself, too. She was rocking and swaying, then bouncing a little, sitting more upright, and he could tell she was nearing her own peak. She arched her back, her breasts looking pretty even in her black cotton nightshirt, and she touched at his scarred chest as she murmured,

"Oh, I'm going to… ahh…"

"Yes." Voldemort rubbed at her arm with one hand and stroked her hip with the other. "Mmm… Bella. Yes. _Yes._ "

He couldn't articulate anything more than that. He watched her face as her little bouncing movements stopped, as her full lips fell open and her head was thrown back, sending curls flying. She mewled and then moaned softly, beautifully, and she completely destroyed any resolve Voldemort had. He could feel her walls clenching around his cock, and it was far too much. He lost himself, feeling heat in his ringing ears and seeing spots before his eyes. There was a sudden flush of utter bliss in his veins, and he could feel his come pumping up into her body.

"Master," he heard her whine gently, and he reached for her hands and squeezed them as he recovered. He slipped out of her after a while, and she lay her head on his chest as she collapsed beside him and whispered,

"Oh, we are so very late to the office."

He scoffed. "I honestly could not care less right now."

He just lay there for a while, feeling her, holding her, and he shut his eyes. Yes, he realised. He was falling in love with her. He didn't care, he thought. He couldn't be bothered with that reality. He just kissed at her knuckles as he told her,

"I was comfortable with you in my bed. That's why I slept so late."

"I was comfortable, too," she whispered back, and they just lay there for a while longer before finally deciding that work was necessary.

* * *

Voldemort's meeting with his Death Eaters went well, but Bellatrix couldn't attend to take notes. She wasn't part of that inner circle. Not yet, anyway. As Voldemort looked around the dining room and saw who was gathered, though, he couldn't help thinking that she would be a good addition. His current battery of sworn and Marked Death Eaters consisted of Malfoy, Rowle, Avery, Nott, Rowle, Crabbe, Goyle, Rookwood, Yaxley, Lestrange, Macnair, and Mulciber.

At this particular meeting, Voldemort discussed with Macnair and Mulciber the idea of attacking a known Mudblood they passed every day. The idea would be a sort of mugging resulting in terrible bodily injury, then altering the man's mind to forget just who had attacked him, except to remember that they'd done it because he was Muggle-born. The act was to be done in the next few weeks and would certainly make the front page of the _Daily Prophet._

The other main topic of discussion had been Cygnus Black, who was, it was decided, a serious threat to the image of Pureblood families. His antics made Purebloods look like fools, Goyle expressed. Voldemort agreed and said that if Cygnus Black did not successfully emerge from St Mungo's sober, he would personally destroy the man's mind and land him in a residential unit in the hospital, ensuring that Druella and the girls could live in peace with the family fortune.

With all that settled, the meeting dispersed, and there were murmurs as people left about how excited they were to see the news of the upcoming Mudblood attack on the front page of the _Prophet_. But Gareth Lestrange, an old school friend of Tom Riddle's and the uncle of Rodolphus Lestrange, lingered and said cautiously,

"My Lord, I have a letter from my brother Remy for you. I've not read it; it's sealed. But I will warn you that he was… not pleased… when he received your correspondence about Rodolphus and Miss Black."

"Not pleased?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, drumming his fingers on the table. Gareth looked rather afraid, and he pulled an envelope out of his inner robe pocket. He laid it on the table and said cautiously,

"Sir, I hope you know that I am a loyal servant of your cause. Of you. I have been loyal to you since we were schoolboys, and I am loyal still. My brother is a fool. I told him so."

Voldemort took the envelope and said crisply,

"Your morality and devotion is not in question, Gareth. Dismissed."

"My Lord." Gareth Lestrange bowed deeply and walked with brisk steps out of the room. Voldemort cracked open the Lestrange family seal on the envelope and pulled out the folded parchment inside. He opened it and read,

 _Mr Riddle,_

 _The agreement to wed our children was made between Cygnus Black III and myself. Any adjustment to that arrangement would have to happen directly between Cygnus and me, and you certainly would not be involved in negotiations._

 _No, Miss Black can not be physically forced to marry under The Tobias Law, and that is not a law we intend to break. However, her contract to marry Rodolphus is legally binding, and she is obligated to marry him. If there is any indication that she intends on violating any part of the contract (by, for example, pursuing another romantic or physical relationship or by deliberately stalling the wedding), we will certainly not hesitate to file suit against Miss Black and take her to court in the Wizengamot._

 _Rodolphus has decided that he would like to marry Miss Black on her birthday, the twenty-first of September. If she has some objection to this arrangement, which, again, is legally binding, she may make her objections clear in court._

 _Regards,_

 _Remy Lestrange_

 **Author's Note: Raise your hand if you're ready to use an Oppugno Jinx or worse against Cygnus Black, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Remy Lestrange. What's with all these men in Bellatrix's life being complete jerks? Gahhhhh.**


	16. Contract, Succession, Bourn

"Mmm. This is good." Bellatrix grinned as she swallowed a bite of coconut curry chicken. They'd done takeaway tonight, for Voldemort had been in rather a distracted mood after his Death Eater meeting. He just nodded now from across the table, and Bellatrix picked up a piece of curried cauliflower in her chopsticks, ate it, and asked, "So… I recorded a summary of the plans for Mulciber and Macnair's attack in the journal. Just what you told me. I hope that's all right; I tried to keep it vague and brief."

"Thank you," Voldemort said very numbly. He shut his eyes, and Bellatrix finally realised that he had not touched his food. She frowned, noticing that Voldemort hadn't even broken apart his chopsticks. Bellatrix dabbed at her lips with a napkin and asked,

"My Lord, forgive me, but… is everything all right?"

He said nothing. Bellatrix sipped at her water and waited. Voldemort finally opened his eyes and said in a low voice,

"Remy and Rodolphus Lestrange have decided that the wedding will occur on the twenty-first of September. If you decide you will not marry on that date, they will take you to court for breach of contract. I have spent all evening trying to think of a good fix. I do not have one."

Bellatrix felt her stomach flop and her mouth fall open. Her eyes burned, and she whispered,

"No. That's my birthday."

"Yes, I know," Voldemort said softly. Bellatrix felt tears boil up and then fall over her cheeks, and she said,

"I can't marry him. I will be the most miserable witch on the planet."

"Then you may go to court and argue that," Voldemort said, very calmly. "You can argue that you had precisely no say in the arranged marriage, that you did not agree to the contract when it was drawn up, and that you do not consent to the marriage now. In exchange, they will likely ask for a very large monetary payment. Reparations for breaking the contract. The court will almost certainly make you pay them."

"But I don't have that sort of money," Bellatrix shrugged, "and my father won't -"

"I will pay the reparations," Voldemort said simply, and Bellatrix shook her head.

"No. I couldn't possibly allow that."

"I need my Death Eaters to be functional, and if you are miserable, you will not be functional." Voldemort stared at his plate of takeaway, and Bellatrix reminded him in a hushed voice,

"I'm not a Death Eater."

"I would like to make you one," Voldemort clipped. Bellatrix began to cry harder than ever, feeling like her entire world was building up and crumbling all at once. How could she be Voldemort's assistant and his Death Eater, the witch who slept in his bed, when she was fighting off Rodolphus Lestrange?

"What if… what if we offered them a large payment to avoid court?" Bellatrix tried, and Voldemort scratched at his head.

"I've thought of that. It's worth a try. I thought of violence, of badly hurting Rodolphus or Remy. But I need all Pureblood loyalty right now; I can't go beating up on respected members of the community just because they offend my sensibilities. I can write to Remy tomorrow and offer him… seven thousand Galleons. If he won't take that, you'll probably have to make a petition in court."

"Seven thousand Galleons." Bellatrix felt sick. She shook her head wildly. That someone would be so greedy as to accept that much money over a damned marriage contract… she couldn't fathom it. She couldn't fathom taking Voldemort's money - money that had been donated to his cause in good faith - to bail her out of a bad engagement.

Bellatrix flew to her feet and rushed into the kitchen, pulling parchment and a self-inking quill from a drawer. She immediately began to write.

 _Daddy,_

 _Please. I am begging you to write to Mr Remy Lestrange and break off my betrothal to Rodolphus. I do not want to marry him. I need you to be a father to me now. Please, Daddy. Please do not make me embarrass myself in court by begging and pleading with them to free me, only to have them demand money of me. Please, Daddy. Writing to Mr Lestrange and sever the contract. Please._

 _Your loving eldest daughter, Bellatrix_

She folded up the letter, and when she walked back through the dining room, Voldemort plucked the letter out of her hands. He opened it, read it, shook his head, and tore the letter up. Bellatrix stared at him in shock, and he told her,

"Your father is in medical detoxification. He is no state to be writing back and forth to the Lestranges, and even if he could, he wouldn't do it."

"Can't my mother? Surely she was in on all of this?" Bellatrix demanded, and Voldemort hesitated.

"I'm afraid this practise is rather misogynist," he admitted, and Bellatrix stomped her foot a bit.

"Well, I think witches should have some say on who they marry! Just because we're Purebloods doesn't mean we don't care about the men we spend the rest of our lives with, you know!"

"I do know." Voldemort nodded patiently. "When I have power someday, I mean to overhaul Pureblood marriage arrangement practises. The system is broken. I will write right now to Remy Lestrange and offer him seven thousand Galleons. Hopefully, that will keep this mess out of court."

Bellatrix bowed her head, feeling very embarrassed, and she whispered, "Thank you, Master."

* * *

Bellatrix scrubbed at her face with Madam Expholly's Crystalline Wash, getting all the dead skin and debris off in the light of the bathroom wall sconce. She rinsed the wash off in warm water, and when she stood up and dried her cheeks, still wearing her terry cloth robe from the shower, she saw Voldemort standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

"I got a response from Remy Lestrange," he said. "He wrote back almost immediately."

"You do not seem pleased," Bellatrix noted, and when she turned to Voldemort, his hand shook a bit round the parchment he held. He read aloud to Bellatrix,

" _Mr Riddle, The contract that was drawn up between the relevant parties (those being the Black and Lestrange families) stipulated that Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange would marry. The contract also made clear that the groom had the right to set the wedding date at any point once both parties were of age. The wedding date has been set as the twenty-first of September of this year. Notices will be sent out shortly to the community. If Miss Black has any reason to renege upon her legally binding contract, she may defend herself in court. We do not accept the offer of payment and require that you cease interfering in this personal matter, since you have no stake in it. Regards, Remy Lestrange._ "

Bellatrix tipped her chin up and ripped her towel out of her hair. She angrily hung the towel up and began yanking her wide toothed comb through her loose curls. She yanked her hair into a tight braid and shoved it over her shoulder, and she growled,

"Well, I shall see them in court, then. Let them try and paint me as some awful whore. Let the newspaper drag me through the mud. I don't care."

"Well, I do," Voldemort said softly. "Aside from my rather obvious vested interest in your well-being, I care about this turning into a complete circus. So. I have studied your contract. I asked Yaxley to pull a copy from the Ministry and send it over to me earlier this evening out of curiosity. And I've found a loophole."

"A loophole?" Bellatrix finished binding her braid, and she turned to Voldemort again. She threw up and eyebrow. He seemed very nervous all of a sudden as he tucked the letter from Remy Lestrange away, reached into his robes, and pulled something small out.

"Erm… I'm afraid this is the best I've got for now. Sorry. Anyway. The loophole is this. You were not involved in the contract's design or signing, and you object to marrying Rodolphus. Under those conditions, you are _technically_ free to marry up until the established date of the wedding - the twenty-first of September. If you stay unwed and don't marry on that date, you'll be in breach on contract. If you marry before the date of your own free will, the contract is null and void. It's an odd workaround, but -"

"Wait." Bellatrix's heart began to race. She watched him turn something over in his hand and realised what it was. He cleared his throat and assured her,

"You can divorce me afterward. You only have to remain married for three months in order to remain in good faith of the contract. This way, you're marrying of your own volition whilst of age, rendering the contract permanently null and void. It's rather fine print, but I'm very sure it works this way. You'd have to marry quickly, before your birthday, and then file all the Ministry paperwork with the Registration of Marriages, Births, Divorces, and Deaths as a formal method of severing the betrothal. But you can divorce me afterward; I won't contest it or ask for anything. Three months. That's it."

Bellatrix's eyes seared like fire, and she shrugged. "And in return?"

"What?" He seemed confused, and incredibly anxious, and Bellatrix gave him a serious look. He finally nodded and quirked up a sad sort of half smile. "Ah. Yes. We make bargains, you and I, don't we?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bellatrix let him take her left hand and slip on the plain silver band he held in his hand, and he murmured,

"Don't worry; I'll get something much better. That's just a placeholder. Hmm. In return?"

He cradled her face in his hands and bent to touch his lips to hers, and he whispered,

"Become my Death Eater. Right now."

"Yes." Bellatrix nodded, feeling as though two proposals had just happened. Voldemort took her left forearm, pushing her terry cloth robe back, and he met her eyes.

"Bellatrix Black," he said gravely, "do you swear to serve me always, to do as I bid you, to promote my cause and to further my aims through whatever means you must?"  
"I swear it, Master," Bellatrix said very firmly. Voldemort smirked and brushed his wand over her skin, making her shiver, and he said quietly,

" _Morsmordre._ "

Bellatrix gasped as a stinging sensation wormed its way beneath her flesh, as though tiny needles were poking her all over. She watched as an inky black design tattooed itself - a skull and serpent intricately intertwined. Then the design faded from black to maroon, all the way to a rosy pink. Bellatrix grinned up at him and nodded.

"Three months?" she asked, and he told her,

"We can go to the Ministry as soon as possible. We _should_ go as soon as possible, tomorrow or the day after, so the paperwork can get filed. You'll want this to lack pomp and circumstance. The Ministry official can perform the ceremony and then file the paperwork. I'll have to marry you as Tom Riddle, of course."

Bellatrix's grin widened, and she shrugged. "Oh. I… perhaps tomorrow afternoon, if you don't mind giving me the morning to make a quick trip to Diagon Alley? Please?"

"Of course." Voldemort smiled tightly and said, "Why don't we meet at the Registration office at three o'clock? Does that suit you?"

"Why are you doing this?" Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort's mouth opened, shut, and opened again. He finally said gently,

"Because I care for you. That's why."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded, feeling very overwhelmed. She stared at the sink and told him, not for the first time, "You're always saving my hide."

"You do good work for me," he said stiffly, and it wasn't the first time he'd said that, either. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, and suddenly she realised something. She was falling in love with him. She just was. She was about to marry him in a sham ceremony meant to destroy a legal contract, but it didn't mean she wasn't falling in love with him.

"Right, well… see you tomorrow at the Ministry, then," Voldemort said. "I'll have better rings then. Promise."

Bellatrix shook her head and insisted, "I don't need a fancy ring for a fake marriage."

He looked a little wounded at that, and Bellatrix quickly amended,

"Not that… not that you'll be a fake husband. It's just…"

"I know what you mean," he said, smiling rather awkwardly, and he nodded. "Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, My Lord," she said, brushing her thumb over her brand-new Dark Mark.

 **Author's Note: So, Remy Lestrange is a complete jerk, but Voldemort's found a workaround that should be… interesting. Now onto the Ministry for the "sham wedding." Mwah hahaha.**


	17. My Husband, Then?

Lord Voldemort stepped off the Ministry lift and gulped. He reached into his pocket to double check that the rings he'd asked Abraxas Malfoy to obtain for him were still in his pocket. He'd been right about the size of Bellatrix's finger, based on how the little silver ring had fit her. He'd asked Abraxas to go to Borgin and Burkes and buy the prettiest diamond ring set the man had, along with a simple gold band for himself. Abraxas had delivered, bringing back a century-old platinum ring with a sparkling centre stone surrounded by smaller, equally clear diamonds so that it looked rather like a flower. The band was plain platinum, and Voldemort's was simple yellow gold, but now he stood staring at the rings and had an idea.

He tucked the diamond ring and his own gold band into his robe pocket and held Bellatrix's platinum band in his hand. He sighed and dragged his ring around the inside of the ring, murmured, " _Sculpere,_ " and he thought very intently of what he wanted to have engraved upon the metal. Then he tucked the ring away and continued down the corridor.

The Office of Registration of Registration of Marriages, Births, Divorces, and Deaths was a busy place. There was a line, apparently. Voldemort walked up to the little machine on the counter that read _Take a Number, Please_ , and he plucked a bit of parchment that said _25_ out of the contraption. He sat down in a chair in the waiting area and looked around for Bellatrix. She wasn't here yet, Apparently.

"Nineteen! Number nineteen!" yelled a witch, and a man stood with his wife, two toddlers, and their brand-new baby. They must be here to register the child's birth, Voldemort thought. He scowled. He didn't know them. They were Half-Bloods at best. A few minutes later, another stern-looking witch came out and yelled,

"Number Twenty, please!"

A very sombre-looking wizard who seemed like he'd been crying rose, swiping at his ancient eyes and carrying a folder with him back into a room with the witch. Voldemort felt a little sorry for the man. His wife had died. He didn't even need Legilimency to tell that. The man had a wedding band on but was all alone. His wife had died, and he was here to register the death.

"Sorry I'm late!"

Voldemort looked up to see Bellatrix land with a huff into the seat beside him. He stared at her in shock; she was wearing white. Not only was she wearing white; she was wearing a _veil._

"Bella," he said quietly, blinking a few times, "you look…"

"Silly?" she guessed, but he shook his head and insisted,

"Marvelous."

She gave him a self-conscious smile and insisted in a thick sort of voice, "Oh, I just wanted this to seem legitimate. That's all."

"Of course." Voldemort stared her up and down. So this was why she had gone to Diagon Alley. She had bought a wedding dress. She wore a calf-length dress with full tulle skirts and a lace top with long lace sleeves, and she had white pearls around her neck. He had made her hair sleek and shiny and pulled it into a low chignon, from which a white lace veil, the same lace as her sleeves and bodice, tumbled to the middle of her back. She wore shiny red lipstick, and she'd powdered her face. She was beautiful, strikingly beautiful, even if this was all just pretend. Suddenly Voldemort wished he'd worn tuxedo robes, but he'd thought it would be idiotic to show up to the Ministry dressed like…

Dressed like he was going to a wedding, he thought, scolding himself. Well, at least he'd worn elegant black brocade. He gulped hard and told her seriously,

"You look very, very pretty."

"Twenty-four! Number twenty-four!" a processing witch called, and Bellatrix turned her face toward the couple a few chairs over. At first, Voldemort thought they were there to get married, too, but then he saw the wizard reach for the witch's elbow gently, and she hissed at him,

"Don't you dare touch me, Nathaniel. Don't you ever touch me again."

Divorce, then. He blinked a few times. Would they be here in a few months registering a divorce? Probably, he thought. This wedding was just to free Bellatrix from her contract with Rodolphus Lestrange. This was just her liberation. She'd need liberating from Voldemort, too. Someday she'd fall in love with a boy her own age. Someday she'd fall in love with a handsome young man, and she'd want to marry him. So in a few months, as soon as it was possible without getting her into legal trouble, Bellatrix would need to be able to divorce Voldemort.

He cleared his throat and held out his palm, and he asked her,

"May I have that silver ring? I've got better ones for the Ministry's ceremony."

"Oh." Bellatrix slid off the silver ring and offered, "May I pay you for the rings? I wouldn't want you to have the expense."

"Bella." He shook his head a little and licked his bottom lip, and he was about to say something else when a very stout, angry-looking witch came out from the corridor of offices and barked,

"Number twenty-five!"

"That's us," Voldemort sighed, and when he stood, he held his hand out to Bellatrix. She stared up at him and put her fingers into his palm, rising slowly, her skirts billowing around her. She walked beside him toward the sour-looking witch, and Voldemort heard someone whisper,

"That's Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black! Getting _married!_ "

"Think he goes by Lord Voldemort now," someone whispered back. Voldemort held his head high and followed the witch back into a shadowy office. She made the lights just a little brighter with a flick of her wand, and she stood behind her desk and said in a gravelly voice,

"My name is Mrs Bolton; I'm a Registration Witch for the Ministry. I take it by your attire that you're here for a marriage ceremony and registration?"

"Yes, please," Bellatrix said quietly. Mrs Bolton asked perfunctorily,

"Are either of you currently married, undergoing divorce, or formally betrothed?"

"Erm… I'm betrothed, but I am choosing to marry of my own volition. We intend to file this paperwork immediately; it will render my betrothal null and void."

"Quite so," said Mrs Bolton, pushing her glasses up her thick nose. She reached for a thick leather binder and pulled out some parchments, and she dipped a quill into some ink. "Name and date of birth of the bride?"

"Bellatrix Black," she said. "Twenty first September, nineteen fifty-one."

Mrs Bolton nodded and wrote the information into the blank slots on the parchment. Then, pushing at her glasses again, she asked,

"Name and date of birth of the groom?"

"Tom Riddle," he answered immediately. "Thirty-first of December, nineteen twenty-six."

He felt very old giving his birthdate right after Bellatrix's, but she didn't seem to mind. He He shifted where he stood, and Mrs Bolton asked,

"Do you both consent to be married and confirm that there is no coercion?"

"I consent," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort affirmed the same. Then Mrs Bolton stood and recited the little ceremony she'd clearly memorised after performing it a great many times. She folded her hands and said,

"Today we gather to join in marriage Bellatrix Black and Tom Riddle, whose promises are magically and legally binding. This occasion should be one of the most memorable and happy of your lives. Cherish this day forever. Bellatrix, do you take Tom as your lawfully wedded husband, your lover, companion, and friend? Do you promise to be loyal to him in body and soul, to cherish and honour him as your spouse from this day forward?"

Bellatrix looked utterly overwhelmed, but she stared at Voldemort for a moment, and then she looked back at Mrs Bolton and nodded vigorously.

"I do," she vowed. Voldemort's stomach flopped and his chest pulled with an emotion he couldn't quite identify. This was all pretend, he reminded himself. This was all just to liberate Bellatrix from her betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange. This was just a deal. Three months from now, they'd be back here registering a divorce.

"Tom," Mrs Bolton said, and he snapped his face to her, "Do you take Bellatrix as your lawfully wedded wife, your lover, companion, and friend? Do you promise to be loyal to her in body and soul, to cherish and honour her as your spouse from this day forward?"

"I do," Voldemort answered immediately, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He cleared his throat and pulled out the rings, for he knew that would come next. He handed Bellatrix his plain gold band, squeezing his right hand around the rings he'd bought for her and holding out his shaking left hand. Mrs Bolton instructed Bellatrix,

"Bellatrix, place the ring upon Tom's finger as a promise of your devotion and fidelity and to bind your marriage in magic and in the law. From this moment, you are his wife."

Bellatrix carefully pushed Tom's ring onto his finger, and he could feel her own hands trembling fiercely as she did. He sighed then and opened his right hand, and Bellatrix gasped at the pretty diamond ring with its round centre stone and the glimmering smaller stones around it. He hoped she didn't mind that it was a hundred years old, that it had probably belonged to some distant ancestor of hers and had been pawned off at some point. It was still a beautiful ring, Voldemort thought. He pushed the diamond ring on first, since it was meant to function as an engagement ring, and then Mrs Bolton said,

"Tom, place the ring upon Bellatrix's finger as a promise of your devotion and fidelity and to bind your marriage in magic and in the law. From this moment, you are her husband."

He hesitated for a half second and then held up the ring for her and murmured,

"Glance at the inside first."

She frowned, confused, but took the ring and read the engraving, turning it around as she did. Then her eyes welled very heavily, and he knew why. He'd carefully enchanted it out by the lift to read six simple words.

 _We make bargains, you and I._

He took the ring and slid it onto Bellatrix's finger beside the diamond ring, and she looked suddenly like she couldn't breathe.

"You are now husband and wife, in magic and in law," said Mrs Bolton. "If you'll both sign here… this is the Ministry copy… and this is your own copy."

"We'll need a third copy of the licence, if possible," Voldemort said numbly, "to send to the affected parties in the betrothal issue."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Mrs Bolton pulled out another sheet and filled it out as Voldemort and Bellatrix put their signatures to parchment. They signed the third copy, and Voldemort took the two copies they were allowed to keep, carefully folding them with a No-Crease Charm and then tucking them into his robes. He watched Mrs Bolton file their licence away into a large drawer behind her desk, and she gave them a tight smile.

"Congratulations," she said. "Good day."

 _Next_ , she meant. She had others to attend to. Voldemort walked with Bellatrix out of the office, out toward the lifts, and suddenly he realised something. As they walked into the lift, he murmured,

" _Rosa Scarlata._ "

He moved his wand in a careful swirling pattern, Conjuring a small bouquet of crimson roses. He handed them to Bellatrix and smirked a little as he told her,

"You can't very well get married without flowers, hm?"

"Oh. Thank you. I never quite mastered Conjuring flowers." Bellatrix took the roses, and Voldemort tried desperately to reminded himself that this was all just make-believe. He wasn't really her husband. Not really. He swallowed hard and told her,

"I'll send the licence to Remy Lestrange later today, and a letter to your mother informing her that we've used a loophole to break the betrothal. I'll reassure her that it's only to last a few months."

Bellatrix just blinked, staring at her roses as the lift door flew open. Voldemort stepped out into the Atrium, but Bellatrix didn't come out of the lift.

"Bella?" he said, and she finally walked out, looking so lovely in her white lace dress and veil that he could hardly stand it. She looked like a bride. She _was_ a bride. She was _his_ bride. His stomach hurt.

He smiled a little at her, knowing they could Disapparate from the Atrium, and he slipped her left hand into his, feeling her rings on his skin and huffing a breath. He took them home, through the black pinching void, landing hard in the formal living room where his piano was. Suddenly they were standing there together, in the house where so very much had happened in such a short amount of time, and Bellatrix said,

"I can't remember the spell, but I should like to Preserve these roses."

"Oh. It's simple. _Diatirisi._ " He tapped at the roses, and a little glow came over them, and he asked her, "What are you going to do with them?"

"Keep them," she said simply, and he just blinked, for that made him more emotional than he'd expected to become. His eyes burned, and she got blurry as water filled his vision, and he told her,

"I never got to kiss you. Husbands are meant to kiss their new wives, but I suppose the Ministry is sparse with its ceremonies. May I kiss you now?"

"Yes, please," Bellatrix whispered, and he just cradled her jaw in his hand, lifting her face up as she went onto her tiptoes, trying to split their height difference. He bent to meet her, touching his lips to hers, not minding her lipstick. He let the kiss deepen just a little, just enough, and he whispered,

"Thank you."

She pulled back, and a solitary tear wormed its way down her cheek as she stared up at him. He thought for a moment that perhaps she was very upset, so he brushed the tear away and promised her,

"It's not for so very long. We'll be back in that office in just a few months, filing for -"

"Stop." Bellatrix shook her head, and he froze, reading an odd expression on her face. Another tear tumbled out of her eye, and she informed him, "I am in love with you."

"Oh." He was silent for a while then, just staring down at her. His throat was dry and tight. She was beautiful there in her white gown, in her veil, holding her roses, wearing her new rings. He blinked a few times and whispered at last, "I am in love with you, too, I think."

Bellatrix just nodded and turned to walk away, and Voldemort called after her,

"I'll send those letters out tonight."

She paused at the stairs, a complete vision in her veil and dress, and she nodded.

"Thank you, Master."

 **Author's Note: Anyone think they'll actually wind up divorced? Haha. How will Remy Lestrange react to** _ **this**_ **news? How about Cygnus? Druella? The Death Eaters (among whose numbers Bellatrix is now counted)? Oh, my. To answer a question I got in a PM - No, this fic is not canon-compliant.**


	18. Thou Wondrous Man

_Dear Bellatrix,_

 _Whilst I must confess that I was entirely shocked to receive Lord Voldemort's letter last night, I am very happy for you that you have managed to find a way out of your betrothal to Rodolphus Lestrange. Your father and I argued terribly about the arrangement ten years ago and many times in the years since. Most recently, in April, I suggested that the betrothal would lead to severe unhappiness for you, and your father responded by drinking an entire bottle of firewhisky and pushing me down a flight of stairs. I hope you know that I have been fighting for you on this topic for some time now, and that I am genuinely thrilled to see that you have found a far more powerful ally to assist you._

 _Lord Voldemort reassured me that you need only stay married to him for three months in order to keep yourself out of legal trouble with the Lestranges. He also promised that he will not be untoward, and I trust him in that matter. I know that he will help you quickly and efficiently file for divorce in three months' time so that you can be free to find and marry whatever young wizard eventually strikes your fancy._

 _We will never be able to truly thank Lord Voldemort for his generosity and kindness. First he secured employment for you, then housing, and now has freed you from the promise of lifelong misery in marriage. Truly, he is a very good man, and I intend on informing every Pureblood witch I know that he is an upstanding and honest man of unquestionable character. He is the wizard to lead us all to glory! Let us all join in his movement and fall in line behind him. How lucky you are, my eldest daughter, to be so very near him. Cherish this opportunity to serve him as his assistant. Be a good tenant and clean up the house for him. Though your marriage is only for show, be a caring and compassionate witch to him to make his days happy._

 _Do not worry over what Daddy will say. They tell me he is far from a model patient, which is hardly surprising. Know that I am proud of you and happy for you._

 _Mum_

Bellatrix sat in the blue bedroom and read the letter, which had been waiting for her when she'd arrived home from Malfoy Manor, for the third time. She finally folded the letter up and tucked it into the drawer beside her bed, and she said quietly to herself,

"Thanks, Mum."

"Bella?"

She looked up to see Voldemort standing in her doorway, already wearing his pyjamas for the evening. She smiled a little at the sight of him in the dark grey flannel, for it felt rather homey to be here with him, both of them ready for bed. She herself had donned a slightly more provocative nightgown than usual - silk and lace that hugged at her body - and he seemed to notice. His eyes went a little wide, and he cleared his throat and asked,

"What did your mother have to say?"

"That she's very happy for me escaping the contract," Bellatrix told him honestly, folding her legs up on the bed, "and that she thinks you're 'upstanding and honest' and have 'unquestionable character.' She encouraged me to serve you well as your assistant and says… says that you'll be very honourable in divorcing me in three months' time."

"Hm. Well, I will be, of course," Voldemort said, and he dragged his fingers over the folded parchment in his hands. "I'm afraid Remy Lestrange wasn't quite as diplomatic."

"No?" Bellatrix felt almost amused. Voldemort came into her room then, walking in and sitting beside her on the edge of her blue bed. He unfolded the letter and read aloud,

" _Dear Mr Riddle._ He just can't stop calling me that, can he? _Dear Mr Riddle, I suppose you must be immensely proud of yourself. How it is that you managed to convince the young and beautiful Miss Black that she was better off marrying an old man than my handsome son, I'll never understand. May you both make each other perfectly miserable. Do not expect any sort of congratulations or gifts from us. Remy Lestrange._ "

Bellatrix started to giggle like mad then, unable to help herself. Voldemort grinned, and as he folded the letter, Bellatrix tossed herself back across the bed and cackled,

"Oh, yes. Let's make each other perfectly miserable, My Lord."

"Talk about sour grapes," Voldemort chuckled, laying the letter on the table beside Bellatrix's bed. He hovered above her then, and suddenly his eyes looked awfully hungry. She petted at his arm through the flannel, and she hummed,

"Hmm. I am not miserable."

"Nor I," he said seriously. He flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's torso and said, "You've been holding out on me. I had no idea you owned nightgowns like this."

"For husbands only," she teased, and his eyes blazed. She smirked at him, feeling herself go a little wet, and she whispered rather impulsively, "You know, you're awfully handsome."

"Bella." He shut his eyes then, his chest rising and falling rather quickly. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and suddenly Bellatrix had the feeling that tonight might be a little different than what had come before. She stayed laying on her back, and he asked her, "Has anyone ever… you know… pleasured you properly?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Bellatrix said. Voldemort cleared his throat, tossing aside his pyjama shirt and revealing the massive scar from the Manticore that had ripped apart his chest. He encouraged Bellatrix to put her head on the pillows, and as she arranged herself, he bent her knees and reached for her knickers, and he asked,

"Has anyone ever used their mouth on you?"

"Down… down _there?_ " Bellatrix asked, breathless all of a sudden.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Voldemort quipped, tossing her black knickers aside and giving her a dangerous look. He rubbed up and down her legs a few times, making her shiver, and he came to hover above her. He bent down, smelling like spearmint, and he whispered,

"I want to take you on a honeymoon, Bellatrix."

"A honeymoon," she laughed, but he kept his face stony. He kissed her, harder than she was expecting, and she whimpered as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She held his face, feeling the shadow of scruff that would need shaving in the morning. She cried out in pleasure as his fingers went between them, pulsing carefully at the damp between her thighs. One of her hands moved to brush along his scar on his chest, and when he pulled away from their kiss, he mumbled,

"What sort of man marries a girl and doesn't take her on a honeymoon?"

"The sort who marries her to get her out of a contract and plans on divorcing her in three months' time," Bellatrix laughed nervously. She met Voldemort's eyes then, and he looked mildly wounded. He just nodded, pulling back and sitting up, and he seemed quite embarrassed all of a sudden.

"You're right, of course. It's a silly suggestion. It's a fake marriage, anyway, so…"

"But I _am_ in love with you," Bellatrix murmured, and she meant it. Voldemort's throat bobbed, and he shrugged.

"Then… let me take you somewhere. Just for a few days."

"Where?" Bellatrix smiled, still feeling anxiety ripple through her core. Voldemort shrugged and averted his eyes as he suggested,

"Crete, in Greece. I have pleasant memories of that place. The sand feels like a cloud beneath your feet, and the food is divine. Let me take you to Greece."

"For a honeymoon," Bellatrix repeated, and Voldemort said nothing. She watched his cheeks redden, and he said in a rather stilted tone of voice,

"I promise you that I'm only trying to do things properly."

Bellatrix's eyes burned badly at that. She nodded and told him, "I would love to go to Greece. That sounds very nice. A honeymoon sounds very nice. Thank you."

"Right. I'll set up the wizarding transportation and lodging with Globus Mundi in Diagon Alley, then," Voldemort said. Bellatrix nodded again. The eroticism from earlier had dissolved significantly, and she felt badly about that. She made a move for his trousers, but he took her hand in his and shook his head a little. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles, and he handed her her knickers as he said quietly,

"I know it's just a trick to break off a betrothal, Bellatrix, but I should like to try and make you happy for the next three months… to the best of my ability. So, please, do let me know if there is anything I can do to that end, all right?"

That almost hurt, the way he was speaking, and Bellatrix couldn't answer him. She didn't want to divorce him, she thought. She picked up Remy Lestrange's letter and read it again, and suddenly it didn't seem very funny.

"How ridiculous of him to write this petty rubbish. Why is he calling you old?" she demanded. "You're the same age he is!"

"Yes, well, his wife is not eighteen," Voldemort said very tightly. He reached for his pyjama shirt and pulled it on, starting to button it up, and Bellatrix slid her knickers on. Then, realising he meant to leave, she felt her stomach twist and ache. She folded the letter from Remy Lestrange and set it on the stand beside her bed. She shifted a little and informed him,

"My sister Narcissa's fifteenth birthday party is tomorrow. My father's still at St Mungo's, so it's likely to be a bit of an awkward event, but…"

"Oh. Yes. Erm… wish her a happy birthday for me, will you?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix hesitated.

"Will you not come to the party?"

He raised his eyebrows. "To a fifteenth birthday party?"

"No; you're right. Sorry." Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. She shook her head. "I just thought… since…"

"Since we're married," he said plainly, and she nodded. Voldemort finally huffed a heavy breath and said,

"I would be glad to attend, if it would make you happy."

Bellatrix felt like crying again. She felt like that a lot these days. She reached impulsively for his hand and squeezed tightly, and she said in a shaking voice,

"We make bargains, you and I, don't we? It says so inside my ring. So, here… let us make a deal, My Lord. I'll let you take me to Greece, and in exchange, you'll come to Cissy's birthday party."

Voldemort smirked and brushed his thumb over her hand. "I think you come out ahead in this particular bargain, but I'll allow it, since I certainly won the last one."

Bellatrix grinned and reached for his face, feeling the poke of his scruff there again. He'd need a shave in the morning before the party. She stroked him there and suddenly thought that she did not want him to leave.

"Stay," she whispered, and he eyed her plush blue bed. Bellatrix dragged her thumb beneath his eye and added, "Please."

He wordlessly climbed up properly onto the bed, and as Bellatrix lay down on her side and let him pull her up against him, she whispered,

"What did you mean earlier? About using your mouth?"

"I'll show you in the morning," he promised, and he kissed her cheek as he cradled her in his arms. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Master." Bellatrix shut her eyes, and just before she drifted off to sleep she whispered, "I do love you."

She felt him kiss her just below her ear once more, felt his fingers stroking hers, and the room slipped away, lost beneath the cloak of comfort.

 **Author's Note: So, they're about to have their first outing together as a married couple, but nobody else knows that they're in love! What will that public appearance look like? Will Druella be able to pick up on her daughter's attraction toward Voldemort? And what about these honeymoon plans? And what about using his mouth? Ahh!**


	19. Canst Thou Bring Me to the Party?

"My Lord!"

She tasted like metal in the best way possible, and as Voldemort pinned her hips to the bed, he ground himself against the sheets and knew he was going to finish in his own pyjama trousers. He didn't mind. She tasted so good. She tasted like dessert. He dragged his tongue along her folds and suckled on her clit, and she squeezed at his hair and arched her back up, moaning loudly. Voldemort groaned against her entrance, nuzzling his nose against her clit and licking with long, firm strokes until she bucked her hips and twisted a little, gasping and whimpering.

"Master… _Master!_ "

"Bella." He was about to come. He could feel it barreling toward him; his cock was being rubbed in just the right way by the fabric of his pyjamas and the sheets. He ground hard against the bed and felt everything explode like a Blasting Curse. His come was leaking in his trousers in spurts as he sucked hard on Bellatrix's clit, holding fast to her hips, and she cried out with a mix of agony and bliss. His ears were hot. His vision blurred. Then he felt her walls snapping around his lips, and he let his head rest against her thigh, watching her body twitch and contract through her climax. He panted desperately, stroking at her hip and murmuring her name as he planted kisses on her skin.

"My Lord," she finally said in wonder, and he pushed himself up a little to smirk at her. She had propped herself up onto her elbows, and she stared at him with pretty, dark wide eyes as she marveled,

"I had no idea anything like that was possible."

"Just about anything is possible," he teased her. She shivered as he dragged his thumb gently over her sensitised clit, and he bent down to kiss her flat belly. He sat up and asked her, "My wand?"

She handed it to him, and he surreptitiously cleaned up the sticky mess in his trousers, though he knew Bellatrix could tell what he was doing. She just lay back against the pillows, her small breasts heaving in her scandalous little nightgown as she mused,

"I like that a _lot_."

He laughed a bit, reminding himself of just how young and new she was, and he flashed her a little smile as he assured her,

"I quite like it, too, so it's rather available upon request."

She laughed at that, and he reached to cup her jaw as he told her,

"I need a shower and a toothbrush. Desperately. I'll be ready in a bit for the party."

He rose and started to leave the bedroom, and Bellatrix said,

"My Lord? Are you sure you want to come? You don't have to come. I can certainly just go alone."

"No; I'd like to come," he said confidently from the doorway, and she smiled where she reclined on the blue bed.

* * *

"Happy birthday, Cissy," Bellatrix told her sister, handing over the wrapped box she'd brought. Voldemort knew what it was; Bellatrix had bought her sister some makeup products at Madam Primpernelle's in Diagon Alley. Narcissa kissed Bellatrix's cheek, and Andromeda appeared to be chatting animatedly with some elderly relative off in a corner, paying Bellatrix absolutely no mind. But Druella Black came rushing through the parlour of the Black family townhome, and she exclaimed,

"Oh, how good of _both_ of you to come! We certainly weren't expecting you, sir."

"The pleasure's mine, Druella," Voldemort said. She'd been a few years younger in school, and he hadn't known her well back then, but from what he remembered, she'd been brought up very well by the aristocratic Rosier family. Her marriage to Cygnus Black had started well and then devolved when his drinking problem had worsened. Voldemort asked quietly, "How is he doing?"

Druella glanced around worriedly and admitted, "His medical detoxification did not go well. They say he was seizing constantly; they had to give him potions to stop it. He was shaking, confused, imagining things. For days on end…"

"Ah. That happens, I think, with the most severe addictions," Voldemort said. "Very regrettable. Has that bit passed?"

"They have him comfortable now," Druella said, and Voldemort studied Bellatrix's unaffected face. Druella said, "The Healers will begin behavioural therapy with him in the next few days, but he's likely to be inpatient at St Mungo's for several months."

"Good," Bellatrix snapped. "At last he's getting help. I was humiliated when he called me a whore at that wedding."

"I know, dear. That was awful," Druella said. She turned to Voldemort and bowed her head. "You have saved Bellatrix from great discomfort and unhappiness. I know too well what an ill-gotten marriage can mean for a witch. I want to thank you, sir."

"Believe me, no thanks are necessary, Druella," Voldemort said sincerely. Druella nodded and smiled weakly, and she said,

"At least it's only got to be for three months, and then you can each pursue your own lives. In the meantime, we are so grateful. Aren't we, Bella?"

"Very grateful," Bellatrix said, and her cheeks went a bit red. She'd come in a flowy black sundress, much more casual than other times they'd gone out together, but Voldemort thought she was still very pretty. He found himself staring at her, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his. They just stared for a long moment, until Druella cleared her throat and said tightly,

"Well. I'm going to go check on the cake."

"Hullo, there, sir," said a voice, and Voldemort turned to see Pollux Black standing before him. He smiled warmly and said,

"Hello, Mr Black. How have you been doing?"

"Not as well as you, I think," Pollux said. He stroked at his triangular white beard and glanced over Voldemort's shoulder. He cocked up a fluffy white brow and said, "I've heard you rescued my granddaughter from a hell of a bad match."

"Well, she's a fine assistant and a was deeply displeased with the arrangement," Voldemort said diplomatically. "Three months is the least I can do."

"Is it?" Pollux smirked, and Voldemort felt a little confusion. Pollux stared at Bellatrix again, and Voldemort glanced back to see that Bellatrix had been swept into conversation with her grandmother Irma. Pollux lowered his voice and said, "She's been staring at you whenever she can since the two of you walked in. She works for you. She lives with you. She's married to you. Why divorce her?"

"Mr Black…" Voldemort shook his head a little, and Pollux said delicately,

"I hear other things, too. I hear Selwyn made a large donation. I'd like to match it."

Suddenly Voldemort understood. Pollux Black wanted Lord Voldemort to be powerful, and he wanted his granddaughter to be the wife of the man in charge. He was trying to bribe Voldemort into staying married to Bellatrix. Voldemort cleared his throat and said carefully to Pollux,

"I care very deeply for her. More than people realise… except for you, apparently."

"Oh, my dear man. I hope you are not conflating these issues," Pollux said lightly. "My donation is entirely independent of what you choose to do with your marital life."

"Of course," Voldemort smirked, and Pollux said quietly,

"Not many wizards could handle Bellatrix, and I don't think there are many she'd want. All I am suggesting, sir, is that if she does not displease you, perhaps you ought not cast her aside just because some date arbitrarily flies by. That is all; I will leave it at that. You can expect my donation to be transferred into your Gringotts vault tomorrow."

"That's very generous of you, sir," Voldemort nodded, and Pollux winked.

"I'd like my Expanded suitcase in black, like the name, if you please."

Voldemort laughed a little as the old man walked away. He went over to the drinks and food table and fetched himself a glass of pomegranate punch. He decided to ladle a glass for Bellatrix, too, and by the time he walked over to her, her grandmother Irma had walked away. Bellatrix stood pink-cheeked, and when she accepted the punch, Voldemort asked,

"Something wrong?"

"Oh, just my grandmother giving unsolicited advice, as always. I saw my grandfather talking to you; I'm sure they were saying the same thing. They really should focus more on the fact that their son is an abusive alcoholic than on me. Anyway."

Voldemort quirked up half his mouth and sipped at the punch, and he looked around at all the clusters of conversation. After awhile, Narcissa blew out her candles and cake was doled out. It was moist and sweet, but as Bellatrix was eating hers, she got some vanilla icing slathered on her upper lip.

"Bella," Voldemort whispered, and when she looked up, he brushed his thumb along the right side of his lip. Bellatrix mirrored the motion, but it was the wrong side, so he murmured, "No, the other… just over… here, let me."

He finally reached for her face, and by now she was giggling softly. He swept the frosting off of her lip, and he gave her a teasing little look as he ate it right off the pad of his thumb. She grinned and shook her head, and when Voldemort looked up, he noticed a few pairs of curious eyes on them. He cleared his throat a little and took a half step away from Bellatrix, realising he was standing awfully close to her.

"So… I think I'll arrange with Globus Mundi to rent a wizarding tourism house and use a long-distance Portkey system to get to and from Crete," Voldemort said. "It's beautiful. Mountains and beaches. You'll like it."

"Can I swim in the ocean there?" Bellatrix asked. Suddenly her face had lit up in a most beautiful manner. "I swam in the ocean when I was a child. We went to the French Riviera. I want to swim in the ocean again, so very badly."

"Oh. Yes, of course. You can swim from sunup until sundown, if you'd like," Voldemort said. "I think the house they rent on Crete is right on the beach, so you can walk right out onto the sand."

"That sounds perfect." She was staring at him like he was a god now, and he cleared his throat again, handing off his empty cake plate to a passing House-Elf. He wanted to hold her face, to kiss her forehead. He wanted to dance with her, to make love to her. He wanted to go to work with her, for some strange reason.

He did not want to divorce her.

"Anyway," he said crisply, "I'd like to wait until after… erm… well, that event that's planned, you know? After that."

"Oh, yes. Of course." Bellatrix nodded fervently. Until after Mulciber and Macnair attacked the Mudblood. She knew what he meant, and he liked that she understood and accepted it and even anticipated it like he did. He smiled a little at her and reminded her,

"I've got a meeting on Monday with those two to discuss that issue, so we'll have to be in bright and early."

"Bright and early," she promised. "I shall use the old alarm clock in the blue bedroom to make sure I wake."

"No," he said softly. "We'll both use the clock in my room."

"Oh." Her lips parted a little, and she nodded. Voldemort glanced around until he saw Pollux Black give him a knowing nod. Druella Black was talking with Andromeda, and she seemed to be rather anxiously looking over, too. People could tell, he thought. People could tell that although this marriage was entirely manipulative, there was something deeper, an undercurrent. Well, Voldemort thought, he could only hide so much.

"Master?" he heard Bellatrix whisper, and when he looked down at her, shivering at the word, all she did was meet his eyes and smile, and he let himself smile back.

 **Author's Note: Oh, Pollux. You old dude. Finally a family member who isn't a complete jerk, huh? Now, how will Macnair and Mulciber do, and will they find out that Bellatrix - Voldemort's wife - is a baby Death Eater?**


	20. O, The Cry Did Knock

"Mr Mulciber. Mr Macnair. May I offer you tea or coffee?" Bellatrix asked, and Macnair shrugged as he came into the office.

"Water, perhaps? Hot day out today, even in the morning."

"Water'd be grand. Thanks, Miss… Miss Black," said Mulciber, and Bellatrix didn't correct the title. She just went over to the drinks stand she'd set up before the meeting and poured two tumblers of chilled water as the men sat opposite Lord Voldemort, and once she'd delivered the water, she offered,

"Water, Master?"

She used the word on purpose, for Mulciber and Macnair knew not only that she was Voldemort's employee, but that she was his wife in a careful legal arrangement. He seemed to very much appreciate her use of the term, and he curled up his lips as he asked,

"Tea? You know the way I like it."

She smiled and bowed her head submissively and set to work brewing him up a cup from the tea cart beside his desk. He'd cooled the air in his office with a Chilling Charm, so they weren't feeling the summer heat in here. Bellatrix put two tea bags in a cup and poured hot water over it, placing the cup and saucer on a folded napkin and putting it before Voldemort.

"Anything else, Master?" she asked carefully, flicking her eyes to see Mulciber's and Macnair's wonder at just how deferential she was. They seemed to mimic her a little then, adjusting their posture until they'd shrunk back just a little. Bellatrix went back to her desk and opened her notebook, inking up a quill.

"Well, My Lord," Macnair said, "We weren't expecting to actually carry out the attack today. We were only expecting to scout out Finian Magee. But… when we were waiting for him in the street outside his home in East London… well…"

"It was completely empty," Mulciber said. "We looked at one another and knew we might not get this chance again. We moved forward."

Bellatrix was surprised as she jotted down that information. She looked up to see Voldemort fold his hands and shrug calmly.

"And?" He Vanished the tea bags from his cups and sipped his bitter tea, and Macnair said,

"Well, I cast a Shield Charm around us, along with Muggle Repelling Charms, just in case. Then Mulciber Stunned Magee. We took his wand and his money."

Macnair pulled out a wand and handed it to Voldemort, who said calmly,

"Birch wood. Phoenix feather core. A fine trophy. Keep the money… divide it equally between yourselves."

Macnair and Mulciber grinned at each other, and Mulciber said,

"We put Stinging Hexes on him, sir, and then we put a few other injury spells - Bruising Jinxes, a Splintered Jaw Hex - and we used little Severing Charms to cause small cuts on him. Enough to bleed a little, but not enough that he couldn't stagger to the Ministry."

"We altered his memory, My Lord," Macnair said. "I was very careful; you know I'm skilled with Memory Charms. He won't remember that it was us, specifically, and I scrambled his mind a bit. If anyone asks what happened to him, he'll just say that he deserved the attack because he's got filthy blood."

Voldemort smiled, and Bellatrix couldn't help giggling softly from where she sat. She wrote down,

 _Magee will say that he earned the attack due to his 'filthy blood.'_

She looked up again, and Voldemort sighed contentedly. He nodded and said,

"Macnair, Mulciber, I am very pleased. Very proud. I will write to Yaxley to ensure that any Ministry investigation appears thorough but leads to dead ends. Be sure you keep souvenir copies of tomorrow's _Daily Prophet._ You are a part of a great movement here. I am happy with your service. Dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Macnair and Mulciber bowed their heads respectfully. When they rose, Bellatrix showed them out, and they both gave her rather strange, though vaguely friendly, looks. Bellatrix shut the door behind them and leaned against it, squealing a little as she clenched her fists and grinned at Voldemort. He stood up and walked toward her, looking very happy, and when he reached her, he immediately snared his hands around her waist and bent to kiss her.

"Are you happy, Master?" she asked, and he just nodded as he kissed her harder against the door. Bellatrix felt his hand working up her thigh, beneath her skirt, and she moaned softly, rather excitedly wondering if she was about to get taken against a door. He moved his mouth to his neck, making her moan more than ever as his fingers slipped into her knickers and started to play with her clit.

But then there was a knocking behind her, and Bellatrix gasped as Voldemort flew away and cleared his throat, covering his crotch with his hands. Bellatrix opened the door, feeling her cheeks go very hot, and saw Macnair standing there, looking a little surprised.

"I, erm… I forgot my hat," he said, and Bellatrix just nodded.

"I'll fetch it for you, Mr Macnair," she said, and as she dashed back over to the chair where Macnair had been sitting, grabbing his lightweight wool folding wizard's cap, she heard Voldemort say tightly,

"Very well done, Macnair. The others will know how well you and Mulciber did. And I shall write to Yaxley straight away."

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you, Miss… erm… Mrs… Riddle." Macnair seemed mildly confused by what to call Bellatrix, and suddenly her mirth dissolved as she faked a smile and shut the door behind him. She sighed as she turned around, and she shrugged.

"Well, that was awkward," she said lightly, and Voldemort pointed out,

"I really should get that letter off to Yaxley as soon as possible. Why don't you record the summary of the meeting, hm?"

She nodded and made her way to her desk, and the two of them got to work at once.

* * *

Bellatrix was drawn out of the formal sitting room, where she was reading a book about the history of ghouls in manors, by the smell of the food cooking in the kitchen. When she walked in there, she said,

"I wish you'd let me help you, My Lord."

"I like cooking," he said simply. She stood in the threshold of the kitchen and watched him pour a bottle of sparkling apple cider over a cast iron skillet with two pork chops in it. He placed two sprigs of fresh rosemary over them. Bellatrix had gone to The Pumpkin and the Pepper Pot for him earlier with a shopping list, and now he was baking up jacket potatoes and making pork chops. It all smelled divine, and the sizzle in the skillet made Bellatrix's mouth water. Voldemort flipped the lids off of two bottles of cider with his wand and handed them to Bellatrix, and with a few more swishes of his wand, the table was made. Bellatrix smiled as she took the ciders to the table, and her smile grew when he came in and put a buttery jacket potato and a pork chop on her plate.

"Thank you, Master," she said. "May I clean up?"

"Already done," he said, and she glanced into the kitchen to see the cast iron skillet lying Scoured and clean on the counter. He Banished it back into a cupboard with his wand, and she marveled,

"Your magic astounds me."

He snorted a little laugh and sat opposite her, and as he sipped his cider, he said,

"Things went very well with Mulciber and Macnair. I was pleased with that. Yaxley assures me that he'll make it look like he's searching diligently, perhaps even that he's got a few leads, but that Magee's addled mind means they can't get anywhere with an investigation."

Bellatrix shivered where she sat and told him,

"I'm so happy. It makes me so happy when good things happen to you."

He just stared at her for a long moment then, and finally he cut into his pork chop and noted,

"Macnair was not certain what to call you. Have you a preference?"

"Oh. Yes. That." Bellatrix cut into her own pork chop, taking a bite of the cooked onion and cider-soaked meat. She swallowed it and shrugged. "They can just keep calling me _Miss Black_ if they want, can't they?"

Voldemort frowned down at his plat and took a bite of potato. "Unusual," he said, "for a married witch to be called _Miss_."

"But you dislike the surname _Riddle_ ," she pointed out, "and it isn't as though I can be… you know, _Mrs Voldemort_."

They both laughed a little at that, until he put his knife and fork down and folded his hands on the table. He licked his bottom lip and said delicately,

"I imagine you won't want to change your name, seeing as how we're meant to divorce in three months' time. Mrs Black will do fine, if you need to correct anyone."

She just blinked a few times, her stomach hurting at the thought of walking into the Registration Office with him to file for divorce. Three months. It would only be autumn, and she'd be filing for divorce from him. Her eyes seared like mad, and it only got worse when Voldemort said carefully,

"One of the letters I received this afternoon was from Morton Selwyn. He said his son Emery would be interested in courting you so once you're legally liberated from this particular marriage and free to pursue a marriage to a boy your own age. Do you know him?"

Bellatrix's mouth fell open. "Emery Selwyn? Oh. Erm. Yes… he was a year ahead of me in school. He was betrothed, but I know they mutually broke it off. He was a Quidditch player, but very bright. A kind enough boy. Very handsome."

"Hmm." Voldemort chewed his lip and said, "Well, he'd like to court you. So. I'm sure you'll have plenty of options."

"I don't want options, Master," Bellatrix said numbly. He raised his eyes to her and shook his head a little, and he finally asked her,

"Are we still going to Greece?"

"Yes, please," she said, and then she added, "I don't want to be courted by Emery Selwyn."

"You've just told me that he's intelligent, kind, and handsome," Voldemort clipped. "Why wouldn't you -"

"I want to stay with you," Bellatrix burst out. He just stared at her across the table, and she threw her hands up helplessly. "I don't want to talk about planning a divorce anymore. I don't want to plan a divorce. I don't want to divorce you."

He shut his eyes and reached for his bottle of cider, which he sipped in silence. He took a few bites of pork chop and potato, and then he set his knife and fork down again and reminded her,

"You only agreed to marry me because it was a loophole to save you from the Lestranges. And we've only known one another for a very short time."

"The thought of divorcing you makes me want to cry," Bellatrix said firmly, and Voldemort admitted softly,

"Well, I don't want to divorce you, either. I want to take you to Greece."

"All right. Let's go to Greece, then," Bellatrix whispered, and they finished their meal in complete silence.

 **Author's Note: My sincere apologies for the (relative) delay in updating as well as the suckiness of this chapter… my son and I came down overnight with a severe stomach bug, and so I am really ill today. In between hucking into a bucket (yay!) I managed to get this written, but I almost certainly won't be able to update until tomorrow. Apologies for that and thanks for your patience.**


	21. The Isle Is Full of Noises

Many Muggles believed in a divinely beautiful afterlife, Voldemort knew. Heaven, they called it. Witches and wizards, especially Purebloods, were more ambiguous about what came after, about what truly lay beyond the Veil. There could be torturous eternity spent as a ghost, or peace found somewhere beyond, but the details were hazy. That definitive bliss known as 'Heaven,' though, was not something bandied about in the Magical world.

But Crete felt like Heaven.

Voldemort and Bellatrix had left four days after the newspapers had declared that there had been an ' _unprovoked attack on the mind and body of a Muggle-born wizard'_ in the streets of London. People were whispering that perhaps this new movement of Purebloods was not to be underestimated. There had even been an interview with Albus Dumbledore, who had assured the _Daily Prophet_ that Hogwarts was a safe haven for students of all backgrounds and that he would personally lead any necessary efforts to fight ' _rising bigotry against Muggle-borns in the community_.'

Feeling very satisfied with that response, Voldemort had taken Bellatrix by Globus Mundi tourist Portkey to Crete, and now they were staying in the rental house owned by the tourism agency. There was a House-Elf here who spoke good English, and on this evening, Voldemort and Bellatrix had sat in the pergola to partake of the dinner the House-Elf had made them.

Saganaki, the salty and deliciously seared cheese, had been served up on a skillet with lemon juice. Voldemort and Bellatrix had devoured nearly all of that. They'd eaten gyros meat, which was lamb, with a cucumber sauce called tzatziki, inside of pita bread. Now Voldemort was reclining, shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of black linen trousers, on a slatted wooden chair out on the beach before the house. He nibbled on some olives as he watched Bellatrix swimming happily in the water, and he thought again that if there was a Heaven, Crete was it.

She looked miraculous out there, in the shallow turquoise water, wearing her asymmetrical black bathing costume, her hair knotted into a braided bun. She was smiling, happy, and Voldemort thought to himself that the very last thing he wanted to do was march her into the Registration Office in a few months to divorce her.

But Emery Selwyn was only a year older than her, not twenty-five years older. Perhaps she did deserve a boy her own age. And, anyway, she was mortal, and Voldemort very much was not. He'd learnt that when the Manticore had attacked him and he'd been saved by the fact that he had Horcruxes. He'd made another one after that attack, just because he'd been spooked. But Bellatrix could die at any moment. Shouldn't he cut her free for both of their sakes? Let her find a boy who was young and sprightly like her, and let Voldemort focus on his political aspirations.

He set the bowl of olives on the wooden table beside him, and he just stared as the sun began to go down over the craggy, rolling mountains behind Bellatrix. She was swimming backwards paddling her feet and seeming very content, and Voldemort decided to join her at last. He'd put it off for two hours now, but she'd tire soon and want to come inside. They were only here for three days. It was now or never. He stood and peeled off his linen trousers, feeling like a chubby old man as he stood there in his boxer brief style black swimsuit. He walked self-consciously down to the water, and Bellatrix grinned at him.

"Do not mock how pasty and utterly unattractive I am, if you please," he scolded her preemptively, but she frowned and swam toward him.

"Unattractive. Pah." She was remarkably beautiful, he thought again, and the water was pleasantly warm. He was waist-high now, but he continued just a little deeper. Once he was chest-high, he realised Bellatrix was treading, and he laughed a little.

"You're so short," he teased, and she splashed him a bit. He pulled her close, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist, and he said, "There. Less effort this way."

"Mmm. I like it better like this," she nodded, and he instinctively put one hand to her face and the other to her breast through her swimsuit. She shut her eyes and murmured,

"I know why you brought me here. It's almost like that place they talk about… Heaven."

Voldemort froze, for they'd been thinking the same thing, and he tipped his forehead against hers. He'd taste like garlic right now, he knew, from the tzatziki and the gyros, but he hoped she wouldn't care. He leaned in to kiss her, and she was very receptive, taking his face in her hands and delving right in.

Perhaps she didn't want a boy her age, after all. Perhaps she liked this scarred-up forty-three-year-old with a slight paunch in his belly and a bit of grey in his hair. She certainly seemed to like kissing him right now as he cradled her against him in the warm water. She didn't seem to mind at all as he squeezed at her breast, as he went hard and groaned a little. She pulled her mouth from his and moved to his neck, making him dizzy with the way she started kissing him there. She was licking, sucking, pulling. She'd been learning, he thought. She was figuring all of this out. He huffed and petted at her wet hair, and he asked her,

"Can I take you?"

"Contraceptive spell," she reminded him against his neck, and he reminded her,

"I'm rather good at wandless magic. _Nongravidare._ "

She gasped against him at the feel of the warm charm going through her body, and he knew the spell had taken hold. He shoved his swimsuit down over his hips a little, glad the water was as warm as it was, and he urged aside the crotch of Bellatrix's swimming costume. She pulled her face back and stared at him with glassy eyes and parted lips, arranging herself and then moaning softly as she sank down onto him.

It felt oddly weightless here in the ocean, but it still felt good, and once he was inside of her, that part felt the same. He grunted a little as she snared her legs and arms more tightly around him and started to pump her own hips against him. The sand beneath his bare feet was cushiony and soft. The water moved around them in gentle undulations, the rhythm of which Bellatrix seemed to be matching. The sunset painted the sky in violet and rose, and suddenly Voldemort found himself rather breathless.

Everything was coming together. The attack on the Mudblood had gone off without a hitch. Soon enough, there would be even more attacks. He had an appointment set up the following week with a werewolf called Fenrir Greyback who might be able to get more werewolves working for Voldemort's cause. More money was coming in, allowing Voldemort to buy the loyalty of more and more Purebloods. He'd stage more attacks on Mudbloods over the next few months. His movement was gaining traction.

And he'd married Bellatrix to save her from a terrible arranged marriage, to save his administrative assistant from assured misery, but he was also in love with her. The logical thing to do would be to divorce her three months into the staged marriage to free both of them up - him to pursue his politics and her to marry someone more appropriate, like Emery Selwyn.

But as he stood here in Crete, in the warm water, his belly full of gyros and his cock buried inside of Bellatrix, he did not want to take her into any office and divorce her. He just kissed her, feeling her come with subtle bursts of pleasure around him, and he followed suit a few moments later.

They fell asleep that night tangled up naked together in a bed with crisp white linens, the window thrown open so they could hear the waves crashing against the sand outside. In the morning, they drank lemon water and stared at the sea and the mountains until Bellatrix decided she couldn't stay out of the waves any longer. They repeated this for a few days until it was finally time to go home, back to dreary London, and when they finally landed in the office of Globus Mundi, Bellatrix looking tanned and windblown and happy, she said quietly and sincerely,

"Thank you for the best honeymoon any bride could ever want."

"Well," he reminded her as they walked out of the tourism agency, "You agreed to go, and I appreciate it. Perhaps I did come out ahead in that bargain, after all."

She was quiet then, quiet when they went back to the house and unpacked their clothes, and he thought he knew why. She didn't want to walk away from this life and into the arms of Emery Selwyn, no matter how handsome or kind or intelligent the boy might be. She wanted her scarred-up, greying pseudo-husband.

And he wanted her right back.

 **Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapter. I'm still not feeling well at all, but I'll try to update again later. Thanks for understanding, reading, and reviewing.**


	22. With Age and Envy

" _Minister Jenkins said that there were no leads on the case of Mr Magee, who has been admitted to St Mungo's due to his addled mind. The damage to his memory has not been able to be undone by even trained Ministry witches and wizards or Healers, and identifying his attackers has proven impossible. It may well be that this terrifying attack targeting a Muggle-born specifically for his so-called 'blood status' goes unsolved."_

Voldemort smirked as he set down the newspaper, and Bellatrix grinned from where she sat at her desk, eating a scone. She was almost bouncy with energy as she asked,

"Someday, My Lord, can I be the one to attack one of them?"

"You'd like that, would you?" he asked, and she nodded vigorously.

"I have an idea. I want to go to one of their houses in the nighttime and kill them whilst they're sleeping. Then the Muggle police would treat it as a great mystery, and the Ministry would have a huge mess to clean up."

Voldemort gave her a shocked look, then smiled broadly and admitted, "I think I've underestimated you. You're a bit bloodthirsty."

"There wouldn't be any blood," she murmured. "Nice and clean with a Killing Curse."

Voldemort scoffed. "Well. We'll certainly look into scheduling that, Bellatrix. My goodness. I never took you for a cold-blooded murderer. Colour me pleasantly surprised."

She winked at him, and he turned to the other envelope she'd brought down from the owlery. He turned it over and frowned in surprise.

"The Selwyn seal. Hm."

He opened the envelope, and then he pulled out two pieces of parchment. He read the first in silence, and then read aloud,

" _Dear Lord Voldemort, most respected gentleman and esteemed sir:_

 _I thought it inappropriate to write directly to your wife without your permission or notification, so I am including my letter to Ms Black within this envelope. If you would be so kind as to pass it along to her if it pleases you to do so, I would be most grateful._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Emery Selwyn._ "

Bellatrix's stomach sank a little, and she said softly,

"Will you just read me his letter?"

Voldemort pulled out the second sheet of parchment, his mirth from earlier dissolved, and he cleared his throat as he read,

" _To Ms Bellatrix Black,_

 _I know that you are currently married, but I also know the circumstances under which your marriage was forged. I have nothing but respect toward Lord Voldemort for rescuing you from an ill-gotten match in which you had no say. I do realise that it is quite likely your marriage will end in a mutually agreed-upon divorce within several months, and that the expectation is that you will pursue a match of your own making after that time._

 _I do not wish to get ahead of myself. What I do wish is to get to know you better. In school, I found you to be a witch of remarkable skill and talent, an intelligent young woman with a stinging and unique personality. I was fond of you then, and I should like to know you better now._

 _I wonder if you would be kind enough to join me tomorrow evening for dinner tomorrow at the Leaky Cauldron. I will be in the private booth at seven o'clock. It would be preferable if perhaps Lord Voldemort might escort you to avoid any perception of impropriety. I should merely like to make myself better known to you, and to know you better. Please, if you would be kind enough to join me, I shall see you then._

 _Warmest regards,_

 _Emery Selwyn._ "

Voldemort sighed and set the letter down, and Bellatrix tipped her chin up and said imperiously,

"Well, that's stupid of him, thinking I'd meet him for dinner. No. Absolutely not."

"Bella, you have to go," Voldemort said quietly, and she scoffed.

"I'm not interested."

"I need you to go," he said, and when she looked up, shocked, he said, "This boy's grandfather gifted me twenty-five thousand Galleons. I can not afford - literally, Bellatrix, can not afford - to make the Selwyn family angry. I've already made the Lestrange family angry. I _need_ Purebloods on my side if my movement is to prosper. I need the Selwyns. You don't have to promise him anything. Let the boy buy you dinner and have a conversation with you. I'll drop you off and pick you up. You have to go. I'm saying that as your employer and as your master."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to protest again, but he tipped his head and raised his eyebrows, and she finally just nodded and whispered,

"As you say, My Lord."

* * *

Bellatrix tried not to dress up _too_ much. She settled on a knee-length skirt of black crushed velvet, a wispy black blouse with a thick belt, and high-heeled black boots. She left her curls tumbling in silky ringlets around her shoulders, lined her eyes, and wore dark lipstick. When she and Voldemort Disapparated into the Leaky Cauldron, her instinct was to hold his hand, but she resisted. Instead, she walked silently with him to the booth marked _Private_ that had a velvet curtain drawn over the front. Voldemort peeled back the curtain, and the handsome young man inside stood in the spacious interior.

Voldemort and Bellatrix walked in, standing before the booth, as Emery Selwyn gave them both a polite bow. He was tall, as tall as Voldemort but with a far more athletic build. He was sinewy and strapping, with auburn waves and pale freckles across his angular face. He had dark green eyes that rested behind brass wire-rimmed glasses, which somehow seemed quite handsome on him. He smiled a bit at Bellatrix and said warmly,

"Ms Black. How good to see you again. Sir… thank you kindly."

"Enjoy your dinner. I've got some shopping to do. Bellatrix, do you need anything?" Voldemort asked, but she said softly,

"No, thank you."

"I'll be back," Voldemort said tightly, and Emery bowed his head again as Voldemort left. A busty witch came in and asked for Bellatrix's order at once.

"Erm… mutton pot pie and a Butterbeer, please," Bellatrix said. Emery smiled and said,

"That sounds nice. Two, please." Once the witch had gone, Emery told her, "I quite like pot pie. It's so soothing, even when it's hot outside."

"Yes," Bellatrix agreed. "My mum always told me it would make me fat."

"Oh, I think it would take quite a lot of pot pie to make you fat," Emery assured her. He laughed and asked her, "So, you're working as his assistant? That must be fascinating. I hope to joint the movement someday."

"You do?" Bellatrix was surprised, but Emery nodded vigorously.

"Oh, yes. It's getting so exciting. These attacks on Mudbloods. The Pureblood community coming together. We're living in an exciting moment, aren't we?"

"I suppose we are," Bellatrix nodded. "What are you doing for work these days, Emery?"

"Well, believe it or not, I'm rather an assistant myself," Emery laughed. "My grandparents, Titian and Lenna, travel the world regularly in their retirement, but I assist them in planning and I help around their manor when they're home. I'm sort of like my grandfather's assistant."

"Your grandfather was very generous," Bellatrix pointed out, and Emery insisted,

"He believes strongly in Lord Voldemort. That was a good idea with the suitcase, by the way, as a thank-you gift. I'm assuming you thought of that."

Bellatrix gave him a knowing smile, and Emery said,

"My sister Mariana is going into her last year at school, you know. She says she worries the Slytherins will be treated horribly after this incident with the Mudblood. The Gryffindors will be all up in arms about it. I told her to carry her head high; she's a Selwyn, and she'd best not forget it."

"I quite like Mariana," Bellatrix affirmed. "I just had drinks will her earlier this summer."

The food came then, and Emery passed over a few coins. Bellatrix murmured her thanks, and he brushed it off with a shake of his hand.

"Do you ever miss Hogwarts?" Bellatrix asked, taking a bite of her steaming pot pie, Emery shook his head no and insisted,

"The world is so much bigger than Dumbledore's school."

Bellatrix nodded her agreement. As she sipped on her Butterbeer, she studied Emery's good-looking face. He was only a year older than her. He wasn't trying to spearhead a political movement in which she'd be in the way. He wanted to marry her. Could she be happy with him?

The rest of the meal was exceptionally pleasant. Unlike other young men, Emery didn't make Bellatrix talk about Quidditch or wizard's chess. They talked about their theories about how Gringotts functioned. They discussed the prejudice against Knockturn Alley and how the store owners there could capitalise on their reputations. They talked about the quality of produce in The Pumpkin and the Pepper Pot. And they talked some more about Mudbloods and what they deserved. By the time they'd finished eating, they were just talking, very easily.

"I think my grandparents will be here for the Malfoys' end-of-summer garden party," Emery was saying. "They had a trip to Ireland planned, but they rescheduled when I reminded them of the date."

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that. Last weekend before everyone goes to school. Goodness; that's just next week!" Bellatrix drank the last of her Butterbeer and said, "Yes, I'll be there."

"I expect Delilah and Findlay Avery will be there, scowling at one another like two angry cats," Emery said, and Bellatrix giggled.

The curtain of the private booth opened then, and Voldemort seemed surprised to find Bellatrix laughing and Emery smiling at her. He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, and as Emery flew to his feet, Voldemort said,

"I hope I'm not cutting things short."

"No, by all means. I must hand her back over," Emery said warmly. "But, Ms Black, it truly was an honour to see you again. I hope there will be many other occasions."

"Well, I'll see you at the Malfoys' this next weekend," Bellatrix grinned, and she let Emery take her hand and kiss her knuckles. Voldemort stood there like a statue holding his canvas shopping bag, and he said in a tight voice,

"Good evening, Mr Selwyn."

"Goodnight, sir. Ms Black." Emery bowed his head, and as they walked away from the booth, Bellatrix took Voldemort's arm and Disapparated by Side-Along with him. When they landed in the formal living room of the house in Cressida Road, Voldemort tossed his bag of writing supplies down onto the sofa and stormed over to the piano, sitting down at once and beginning to play strong, angry chords. Bellatrix frowned.

"My Lord?" she called over the music. "Wouldn't you like to know how dinner went?"

"I think I can tell just fine how dinner went," he said over his shoulder, and she could see that his cheeks were pink. He slammed a few more chords into the piano, and she deepened her scowl as she exclaimed,

"You're the one that made me go!"

"I know." He just kept playing, and finally Bellatrix threw her hands up and walked up the stairs. She undressed in her bedroom and got into a shower, still able to hear Voldemort's angry piano music over the sound of the shower running. She thought about Emery Selwyn and wondered if perhaps she wouldn't be smarter to marry him.

After all, Lord Voldemort was no ordinary man. He was trying to lead wizarding Britain to glory. He did not need a wife tied around his ankle for that. And Bellatrix was only eighteen, whilst he was forty-three. By the time she was forty-three, he'd be nearly seventy years old. The age gap was daunting. She loved him. She did. But she'd only known him for a scant short while. She could learn to love Emery Selwyn, too, she thought. He seemed like a kind, warm soul who shared her views and aims. And he was handsome and young.

Still, the thought of divorcing Voldemort in a few months made her stomach hurt. She didn't care for the idea one bit. She shut the water off and toweled off, combing her hair and yanking it into a braid. She cleaned her teeth and went into the blue bedroom, pulling on knickers and a flowing black nightgown, and she gently shut the door and lit the sconce beside her bed with her wand. She pulled out her copy of _Ghouls in Manor Houses: A History_ , and she propped herself up against her pillows to read.

After a very long while, there was a gentle knock on her door, and Bellatrix set her book aside and called,

"Come in."

The door opened and Voldemort walked in wearing his dark grey flannel pyjamas, smelling of spearmint. He sat on the edge of Bellatrix's bed, and he stared at his hands as he informed her simply,

"I would be broken-hearted to take you into the Registration Office in a few months to file for a divorce."

Bellatrix's eyes seared, and she found herself unable to answer him. _Broken-hearted?_ He turned his eyes to her, his face apparently emotionless, and he said,

"I am very much in love with you. I no longer care under what circumstances our marriage was devised. I would like to formally propose keeping our marriage intact."

Bellatrix just nodded silently. Voldemort continued on,

"I realise that we have not known one another long, but arranged marriages certainly involve the parties knowing one another less on a personal level. I believe that know you fairly well, and I mean let you know me better than you do. We know one another well enough to be in love, I think. I felt a keen sting the entire time you were at dinner with Emery Selwyn - envy - and a ugly, painful stab when I found you laughing alone with him. I do feel protective and possessive of you, and it is because I love you."

Still Bellatrix found herself unable to say much of anything. She just stared at him, and he finally told her,

"I want you to serve me as my Death Eater. I want to let you kill Mudbloods in their houses. I want you to be my assistant. And I want you to still be my wife when the flowers blossom again next spring, and the spring after that. I do not wish for it to end this autumn."

Bellatrix swiped at her eyes and said quietly, "I want to stay with you."

"Then come with me and stay with me," he told her. He held out his hand to her, and as she took it, he told her, "I shall strike a bargain with you."

"A bargain?" she asked, and he tipped his head, brushing his finger over her ring as he reminded her,

"We make bargains, you and I. If at any time, you are unhappy, I will gladly divorce you and hand you over to Emery Selwyn or whomever you may want. But so long as you are happy as my wife, then I shall try my very best to be a good husband for you. Have we got a deal, Mrs Black?"

"Riddle. Please." He gave her an odd look, but she reminded him, "Many still know you as Tom Riddle. You married me as Tom Riddle. Everyone knows that was your name. You can be Lord Voldemort, but let me be Bellatrix Riddle."

"You're coming out ahead in this bargain," he teased her, but he finally raised her hand to his lips and kissed the rings he'd put on her fingers. "It is a filthy Muggle name. I wish you would not use it."

"Fine," Bellatrix smirked. "This is the bargain, then. I remain Bellatrix Black - _Mrs_ Bellatrix Black. We both agree to an easy divorce if the need arises, and we both agree to be good spouses in the meantime. And people can know that our little arrangement has become something genuine. How's that for a bargain?"

He just stared, sighed, and nodded, and then he told her again, "Come with me and stay with me."

He led her up and out of the blue bed, out of the blue bedroom, down the little corridor, and into his room, and Bellatrix smiled as she realised she'd probably spend every night now in this black and red bed.

 **Author's Note: Awwww. He's going to let her kill some Mudbloods! How will Emery - and just about everyone else - react at the Malfoy end of summer party when they realize that these two are actually, genuinely in love with each other? Mwah hahaha. Yes, this is a fun and easy fic to write. I don't intend on it going much beyond 65,000 words or so just because it's a total fluff fic and I have a much darker story in mind coming up next, but I'm enjoying this one in the meantime!**


	23. Do Prize, Love, Honour You

"Ready?" Voldemort finished buttoning up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, and he shrugged on his lightweight outer robe in dark green. Bellatrix stood in the bathroom, her hair pulled into a high ponytail that sent her curls tumbling down, her makeup light, shiny, and ethereal. She smiled at him and asked,

"Can you do up the back of the dress, My Lord?"

He smirked a little as he buttoned up the back of her sleeveless, high-necked black dress that hugged her figure just so, and as he glanced down at her gladiator-style sandals, he informed her,

"You look sexy. I feel like taking you before we go."

She giggled a little and insisted, "We'll be late."

"I'll be quick," he promised, and Bellatrix turned round, putting her hands on his chest and biting her lip up at him. She looked very tempted, so Voldemort decided to press his luck. He slid his fingers up the inside of her thigh, but she hissed and shook her head and lamented,

"I'm bleeding. Sorry."

He growled a little but admitted, "Better than missing the bleeding, I suppose."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, "though I feel like my lower abdomen's at war with itself."

"Oh. I actually have a spell for that," he told her. "I invented a spell to combat the pain of muscle cramping when I was mountain climbing in the Alps. Long story. Anyway… _Iussos Spasmos._ "

He brushed his wand along Bellatrix's lower belly, and she stared at him, open-mouthed.

"You could make a _lot_ of money off of that, you do realise?"

He scoffed, and as he walked out of the bathroom, she followed him and insisted,

"Really! You could make a fortune off of that spell!"

He laughed and shook his head, and he insisted, "I'd prefer to be known as the wizard who reigned over Britain, not the man who fixed period cramps. If you'd like to market it, it's all yours."

She gave him a mildly offended look, and she reminded him, "I'm going to kill Mudbloods for you."

"Well, fine. Let the other witches suffer, and you can be the only one to benefit from the spell then." They were both laughing now, and he finally took her face in his hands, his wand pressed against her cheek, and he bent to kiss her as he murmured, "You look pretty."

"I thought I looked sexy," she protested playfully, and he confirmed,

"Pretty. Sexy. Both. Let's go." He took her hand in his and Disapparated, and there was a moment of pinching, whirling black as they whizzed through the void. When they came to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor, Voldemort immediately took Bellatrix's hand. Things were going to be different this evening.

There were lanterns floating above the gardens, illuminating the tables and bar and House-Elves wandering about with platters of hors d'oeuvres. There was a dance floor that no one was using yet, and a small string ensemble was playing whimsical music.

"Good evening, sir!" exclaimed an enthusiastic voice, and Voldemort turned at once to see Yaxley standing with Mulciber and Rookwood. Voldemort led Bellatrix over, and all three of the wizards seemed a little amazed to see them holding hands. Voldemort tightened his grip a little around Bellatrix's fingers.

"Yaxley," he acknowledged. "Fine work covering up Mulciber's… well, _his_ fine work."

Rookwood chuckled. "Loads of fine work going round these days, My Lord."

"So there is," Voldemort agreed. "Rookwood, what is the mood in your corner of the Ministry?"

"Fear, sir," Rookwood confirmed. "People are afraid that they or their friends might be next. But the quiet ones are potential allies, and I've taken pains to reach out to them. The ones staying quiet tacitly support the attacks."

"Good. We ought to discuss this at meetings, I think," Voldemort said, and the other three nodded. They bowed their heads, and Bellatrix smiled at them. Voldemort hesitated and confirmed, "I've given her the Mark. You should know she's one of you. She won't just be doing office work, either."

"Oh. Well… congratulations, Miss… erm…"

"Mrs Black," Voldemort said curtly, and Yaxley nodded.

"Congratulations, Mrs Black."

"Thank you, Mr Yaxley," Bellatrix smiled. They got swept into one conversation after another - first with Bellatrix's mother and Narcissa (Andromeda was off sitting at a table nursing a Gillywater), then with Nott and Avery, then with Abraxas Malfoy. Finally, they had to speak with Titian Selwyn and his grandson, Emery.

"Ms Black," Emery said, "How good to see you again."

"Emery," Bellatrix said very carefully, "I want to thank you so very kindly for dinner the other night. But I think it would be unfair of me not to tell you that I've decided to… to keep my marital status as it is. I've no intention of being available any time soon. I hope you'll understand. You're a wonderful man."

Emery eyed Voldemort's hand holding Bellatrix's, and he nodded, smiling sadly.

"Well, I can't say that I'm not a little disappointed, but… well, I'm very happy for you both. Here's hoping that a marriage born of necessity breeds deep happiness for everyone involved. And, please, sir, if ever there's a place for me in your movement…"

"I certainly think there will be," Voldemort nodded, and Emery looked very happy then.

Voldemort let her away to the drinks table and got them both fizzy apple and mint gin punch. It was an interesting cocktail, and Voldemort curled his lip up a little at it, but Bellatrix smiled and said,

"I like it."

"Well, all right, then." Voldemort sipped it again. "You handled that situation with Emery Selwyn beautifully. Perfectly."

"I just want to make you happy, Master," she said, and he smirked a bit and walked away from the drinks table with her. Then he noticed three people staring right at him - Remy, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange.

"Hmm," Bellatrix hummed. "What to do?"

"Well, I could go be polite to them, but I don't really feel like doing that," Voldemort said sharply. He set his drink down on a nearby table, took Bellatrix's and did the same, and asked her, "May I have this dance?"

She gave him a playful little smile. "By all means."

He guided her out to the dance floor with his hand on the small of her back and his other hand holding hers, and when they reached the floor, he swept her into a very close stance and bent down to touch his lips to hers. He kept his mouth a hair's breadth away and whispered,

"Look like you love me."

"I do love you," she assured him, and he let out a low rumble of a laugh.

" _I_ know that," he whispered. "I want Remy and Rodolphus Lestrange to know it, too. I want them to realise that they didn't just lose you to some political machination. They _lost_ you, really and truly and entirely. Show them."

"Mmm." Bellatrix let her head rest against Voldemort's chest as they swayed, and he kissed her hair. He noticed Andromeda Black staring from where she sat morosely at a table, looking utterly shocked to see her sister curled up against Lord Voldemort. He saw Narcissa standing with Lucius Malfoy, both of them wide-eyed with surprise. Druella Black looked almost misty-eyed, as though she were taken aback but very happy. Emery Selwyn was lost in a conversation. As they turned a little, Voldemort could see that Remy Lestrange's face had gone the colour of an aubergine, and Rabastan Lestrange appeared to be trying to calm down a visibly upset Rodolphus.

Voldemort tried not to smirk a little as he soothingly stroked at Bellatrix's back. She looked up at him again and murmured,

"I can hear your heartbeat through these robes. Awfully fast for how slowly we're dancing."

"Yes, well. I'm a little worked up," he smiled, and she took her hand from his shoulder to stroke at his cheek a little. He liked that; he shivered a little and leaned against her hand, shutting his eyes for a moment. She encouraged him to come down for another brief kiss, and when he did, he deepened it beyond what she was expecting. She whimpered in surprise when his tongue crept between her lips, though the idea that people were watching made him smile. The song ended, so he stopped dancing and slowly broke the kiss, still standing awfully close to her, cradling her by the small of her back, and he touched his lips to her forehead.

"We shouldn't linger," he said. "We should go home. We've talked to plenty of people. We've made our point."

"All right," she said breathlessly, grinning up at him. She took his hand and let him lead her off the dance floor, between the tables and under the lanterns, past the whispering, awestruck faces of the people who hadn't realised that Lord Voldemort's marriage was more than just a legal workaround. He led her out past the gate, and then he drew her up into another kiss, one people couldn't see, and he promised her,

"I am not leaving you."

Then he Disapparated, taking her with her, taking her home.

 **Author's Note: Take that, Lestranges! Nice PDA, huh? Now, who's ready to see Voldemort turn Bellatrix loose as a Death Eater? Mwah hahaha. Thank you so much for reading; PLEASE take a moment to leave a review if you get a quick moment. Thank you.**


	24. Be Free, and Fare Thou Well

"I could have done it alone, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and from beside her, he said calmly,

"I know very well that you could have done it alone. It's your first mission, and the first time I've asked a Death Eater to execute a Mudblood. I'd like to witness it, if you please."

"I understand, Master." She walked determinedly up to the cottage outside Naunton. It was three in the morning, and the country road was completely quiet. The high grass on either side of the hilly road rustled as Bellatrix walked straight up to the door of Morton Seward and aimed her wand at the lock. " _Alohomora._ "

Morton Seward was a bachelor, a Mudblood who worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He would be expected at work in the morning, and when he didn't arrive, an owl would be sent to his home inquiring after him. When no response was received, someone would come to check on him, and they'd find him dead. Bellatrix had selected him because he lived alone in a cottage in the countryside; it was a safe pick for her first mission. But he was also a Ministry employee, so eliminating him was a bold choice.

"Master, will you Scour our footprints?" Bellatrix asked in a whisper, and Voldemort smirked at her as he softly murmured back,

"Smart girl." He set to work cleaning up the evidence that they'd walked from the Apparition point to the door, and then he followed her into the house. It was dark and quiet, and as soon as Bellatrix saw Seward's dog, she mumbled,

" _Stupefy._ " The dog ricocheted back against the wall and fell in silence to the ground, and Bellatrix frowned. "Sorry, pup."

She glanced around the corner to see that the dog had a bowl of water and food out. Good. The dog hadn't done anything wrong. It would survive until the Ministry showed up. Bellatrix continued through the house, keeping her footfalls as light as she could until she passed through the sitting-room and came to the cramped little bedroom. She aimed her wand at the lump in the bed, her hand shaking a little.

"Do you need me to do it?" asked a soft voice from behind her, but she just shook her head and said confidently,

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a blast of green light that sent her rocketing back a bit, and Bellatrix staggered as the force of the Killing Curse smacked out of her and into Morton Seward. She was shocked by what it felt like to kill. She'd never done so much as cast an Imperius Curse, and now she'd murdered someone. But she wasn't sorry. Not one bit. She walked quickly over to Seward's bed and saw him staring up and the ceiling, and she laughed a little.

"I did it!" She jumped up and down and giggled like mad, and Voldemort looked completely shocked where he stood. He shrugged and said in awe,

"Well done. Very well done."

"You didn't think I would do it," Bellatrix teased. "You thought you'd have to do it for me."

"I…" Voldemort stared down at the dead Seward and admitted, "I wasn't sure you'd be able to cast that particular curse, but you're always amazing me, Bella. Very well done. Now, let's get out of here, shall we?"

He took hold of her arm and Disapparated, and when they came to inside the foyer of their house in London, Bellatrix was buzzing with excitement. She went dashing up the stairs, laughing like a maniac, and heard Voldemort following slowly behind her. She went into her room and started to tear off her tunic and leggings, her boots and her belt, and she said,

"I need a shower. Sorry; I'm so excited. I need a shower."

"I'm proud of you," Voldemort informed her, and Bellatrix gave him a fleeting kiss as she dashed naked into the bathroom.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, turning on the water. As she climbed inside, not minding the shock of the cold water that hadn't heated up yet, she heard Voldemort say,

"You do good work for me. You always have."

"I try," Bellatrix said lightly. There was a pause then, and Voldemort said,

"I mean it. I'm awfully pleased with you, Bella."

She peeled back the shower curtain and grinned. "Thank you, Master."

* * *

" _MORTON SEWARD MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD._ " Voldemort held up the newspaper, showing it to all of the Death Eaters he'd assembled. Bellatrix smiled where she sat. Yaxley nodded and said,

"The Ministry's panicked. They can't figure out who's behind these attacks, though, of course, some have their suspicions. But, My Lord… we ourselves don't really know what happened."

"I know. I know, because I was there, because I did it," Bellatrix blurted. Voldemort gave her a playful look and chastised her,

"Well, now you've ruined the surprise."

" _You_ killed that Mudblood?" Gareth Lestrange sounded awfully impressed, and Avery and Nott stared at one another in complete shock. Bellatrix laughed and nodded.

"It was so easy," she mused. "All I had to do was march right up to his house and walk into his bedroom and kill him. So that's what I did. I just went into his room and killed him. It felt so good."

"Bella." Voldemort rolled his eyes a little, chuckling. He shrugged and said to the others. "Her bloodlust is greater than I anticipated, I'll admit, but you can plainly see why I've made her a Death Eater, no?"

Mulciber and Macnair actually began clapping then, and everyone else at the table followed suit. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who were usually very sour, applauded Bellatrix. She laughed and waved them off, but Voldemort tapped his fingers against his palm, and once the applause died down, he said,

"Now. Let us not rest on our laurels too heavily, friends. We must use this opportunity to recruit enthusiasm for our cause. Evangelise our purpose. To anyone who might be open to the message, spread the idea that Mudbloods must be cleansed from our community. Solicit donations. Paint these attacks as positive for the wizarding world. Yaxley, Rookwood, and anyone else working at the Ministry… give the impression that a great pursuit is taking place, but ensure that all investigations continue to lead to dead ends. Is everyone clear? Yes? Good. Dismissed."

As the room cleared out, a few of the wizards gave Bellatrix little smiles and waves, and she just nodded as she stayed sitting. Once Abraxas Malfoy demurely shut the door, Bellatrix grinned at Voldemort and shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Master. I got overexcited."

"You have proven yourself to be a real soldier," he said plainly. "You are fierce and courageous, Bellatrix. I did not realise you had this within you, and I confess that knowing it about you has made me… hot-blooded."

"Mmm…" Bellatrix stood up and walked over toward him, and he pulled out his chair a bit. She moved to sit on the table, and he looked shocked when she reached up into her skirt and shimmied out of her knickers.

"Bellatrix!" He laughed a little as she kicked her knickers onto the ground, but he stood and glanced toward the door, aiming his hand and wandlessly incanting, " _Colloportus._ "

He reached into his robes and started fumbling with his trousers, and he informed her,

"I could never divorce you now. I hope you realise that."

"Kiss me, please," she begged him. He bent down to do as she said, his hands still pulling out his cock as his lips touched hers. She held his face and spread her legs, feeling utterly soaked between her legs all of a sudden. She urged him to kiss her harder, which he did, and then she felt him drive himself hard into her body. Bellatrix gasped and wrapped her legs round his hips, burying her face against his chest as he buried himself to the hilt within her. He pumped his hips quickly, which felt so good that Bellatrix squealed a little.

She arched her back, planting her palms on the table and pushing her chest up as she let her hair fall back. Voldemort snared his arms around her torso and _fucked_ her. There was no other word for what he was doing now, shoving his hips so vigorously against hers that she could hear them slapping together. She could feel him slamming against her cervix, filling and stretching her, rubbing her clit. Bellatrix moaned helplessly, panting desperately, gasping for air.

"I'm going to come," she informed him, and his mouth clamped onto her neck as he dashed his hips more roughly than ever.

"Do it," he ordered her. "Come, pretty girl. Come for me. Come now."

"Master! _Master!_ " Bellatrix lost herself then, reaching up frantically to wrap her arms around Voldemort. She came so hard then that she couldn't breathe. She came so hard that the room melted away from her, and all there was was the musky smell of his seed pumping into her, the warm feel of her robes around her face. She held fast to him and knew that she never, ever wanted to divorce him.

 _I could never divorce you now,_ he'd told her. _I hope you realise that._

Bellatrix was completely breathless as Voldemort Siphoned and Scoured up the mess he'd made between her legs and carefully slid her knickers back up her legs. He kissed her cheekbone and whispered,

"You've done good work for me, Bellatrix. You've proven yourself a spectacular soldier, killing that damned Mudblood. So tell me. What do you want in return?"

"I don't need anything in return." Bellatrix shook her head from where she sat on the table. Voldemort tipped his head and shrugged.

"We make bargains, you and I."

Bellatrix held his jaw in her hand and whispered,

"Just stay with me, Master. Don't divorce me. Let me be your wife."

His eyes visibly watered, and he nodded as he told her,

"I think I win this bargain, but I'll allow it, Mrs Black."

THE END.

 **Author's Note: I know this story feels a LOT shorter compared to my Bellamort epics, but this was really just intended to be a fun little romp after some of the much heavier writing I've been doing recently.**

 **I'll be taking a break of a week or so (if I can help myself) because I've got a trip to Arizona for a wedding where I'm a bridesmaid, as well as a big event to promote one of my original novels. However, when I do come back to writing, it will be to write** _ **The Stronger and Stranger It Becomes.**_ **This will be a novel-length Bellamort fic taking place in 1971 in which Bellatrix Lestrange has her memory destroyed in battle and is attended to by Voldemort, who, in the process of attempting to restore her memory, inadvertently realizes his most fearless soldier is also a terribly attractive (married) witch… who has no idea who he is. I hope you'll join me for that one.**

 **This has been a nice, fun, fluffy confection of a fic to write and I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it. Thank you so much for all the readership and feedback.**


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